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THE WORLD -WELL LOST. 


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The World Well Lost. 


BY 


/ 

ESTHER ROBERTSON. 





2nd COPY, 

NEW YORK, CINCINNATI, CHI|00;0 

BENZIGE^R. BROXHKRS, 

Printers to the Holy Apostolic See. 

1898. ^ 

TWO COPIES RECEIVED. 



fi 0 » 6 


Copyright, 1898, by Benziger Brothers. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

The Trudelle Family 9 

CKAPTER II. 

Childhood 20 

CHAPTER III. 

Death 29 

CHAPTER I\ 

Return 37 

CHAPTER V. 

Jane’s Methods of Training 49 

CHAPTER VI. 

War 55 

CHAPTER VH. 

More of Jane’s Methods 74 

CHAPTER VHI. 

A Flight 82 


vi 

CONTENTS. 

Lost 

CHAPTER IX. 

PAGE 


CHAPTER X. 


Persons and Events 102 



CHAPTER XI. 

Mrs. Lovell 



CHAPTER XH. 


Resting not Advancing 120 



CHAPTER XHI. 

Calamity 



CHAPTER XIV. 

The Wine Press. 



CHAPTER XV. 

Soul Work 



CHAPTER XVI. 

Hope Renewed. . 



CHAPTER XVII. 


The Mystery of Pain 


168 


PREFACE. 


We can never too often repeat to ourselves 
the old story and well-proved truth that ap- 
parent loss is gain. Time rolls on, and we 
have to acknowledge, however reluctantly, 
that sickness, death, the loss of the dear old 
home, of money, and the like, which we felt 
once had quenched the light from our lives 
forever, have only been so many guiding stars, 
onward and upward. 

The breaking up of happy homes, the send- 
ing out the best-loved child into the world, has 
brought strength and life into many a char- 
acter, which, had it remained too closely under 
the protection of the parent roof, would have 
proved a mere weakling ; while under new in- 
fluences and the harder discipline of life a great 
and strong soul has been fornted — a tool meet 
for the use of the Master. 



THE WORLD WELL LOST. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE TRUDELLE FAMILY. 

At Tiononti, where I was born, there were 
no poor and but few rich. My father was a 
well-to-do farmer, whose house nestled at the 
foot of the great Shippegan Mountain. In 
front of our little home the broad, fertile 
meadows stretched out for half a mile to the 
banks of the Carraquet River, and the farm 
was called one of the best in the country. 

I was the second child, and only daughter. 
If my father loved anything in the world it 
was I ; at least so every one said. He was an 
uneducated man himself, only able to carry on 
his own business transactions, and never read- 
ing anything but the local weekly paper and 
his Bible. Indeed, he professed to have a 
great contempt for learning, and but for our 
9 


lO 


THE TRUDELLE FAMILY. 


mother, my brother Eugene and I should have 
had but little. Mother was much more refined 
in her tastes, and was ambitious to give us the 
best education that she could. That, indeed, 
would not be considered n>uch in these days 
of women’s colleges and professions ; however, 
we were satisfied, and I quite agreed with my 
family in thinking that there was no girl in the 
provinces that could compare with me in clev- 
erness and good looks. 

Eugene, my only brother, was but two years 
older than I, and was my better self in all 
things. We were of one mind and one heart 
in those days. Some thought me the leader 
of the two, but they were the short-sighted 
ones. The truth really was, that while appar- 
ently leading him, I was in reality looking up 
to and reverencing him more than any one else 
in the world, and was entirely guided by him in 
every step of my life. O my brother, could we 
have kept together all our lives, how much sin, 
pain, and sorrow would have been spared us ! 

Even as I write, the bright light and heated 
atmosphere of this room seem to fade away 
from before my senses. Once more I scent 
the frosty air and seem again to climb the 
steep, snowy sides of old Shippegan. 


THE TRUDELLE FAMILY. ii 

One night especially an accident happened 
which comes most vividly before me. It was 
bright moonlight, and Eugene and I toiled up 
the side of the mountain together, dragging 
our sled behind us. There were many with 
us, and the merry shouts of the coasters rang 
in our ears as we hastened to join them. 

Eugene carefully seated me on his sled — 
neither of us would ride with any other — and 
then placed himself in front of me. Away we 
shot down the smooth crust of the face of the 
mountain. I even now involuntarily catch my 
breath as I remember the swiftness of our flight 
through the winter air. Then there was a sud- 
den shock, the sled had run against a hum- 
mock, and poor I was thrown directly over my 
brother’s head, some six feet in front of him. 
My face and bare arms were thrust into the icy 
crust, which scratched them most cruelly. 

Not one word of sympathy did I receive 
from that heedless boy, who, without stopping 
to see if there were any bones broken, jumped 
up, and exclaimed in low, eager tones : 

“ Get on, Lou ; jump on quickly before 
Louis Auger sees us ! ” 

With offended dignity I paid no attention 
to his entreaties, but gathering my scattered 


12 


THE TRU BELLE FAMILY, 


senses together as best I might, I walked off 
down the hill, leaving him to finish his coast 
alone. 

The scene fades, and another appears before 
the eyes of my soul. We two were flying, 
rather than skating, hand in hand, along the 
ice-bound Carraquet River. I still hear the 
sharp ring of our skates, and see the black ice 
glitter in the moonlight, while the exhilarating 
but keen north wind blew us onward. 

Once more the scene changes as, all glowing 
and quivering from the delightful exercise, we 
rushed into our warm, cosey sitting-room in the 
old farm home. 

There was an open fire kept there nearly all 
the year round, and Father Trudelle sat read- 
ing his paper before it by the light of a student 
lamp. The porcelain shade gave a rosy hue to 
his white face, hair, and eyebrows. They had 
been white since my earliest remembrance. 

My poor father ! let me draw your picture 
as I know it now in the clearer light of maturer 
years. I believe I was the only one living 
that he really loved, and it was through me, 
alas ! that his punishment came. A glanCe at 
the thin lips showed that covetousness was 
drawing her mark on his soul. His frosty blue 


THE TRUDELLE FAMILY. 


13 


eyes showed no mercy to the unfortunate, 
while his religion made him even more hard 
and intolerant to those whose convictions did 
not exactly square with his small measure. 

Hypocrite ! ” some have called him, but 
that I emphatically deny. He truly believed 
what he said, but, like many of us in this sad 
world, he had so learned to twist the truth 
into what he wanted it to be, that he deceived 
himself into believing a lie. His manner was 
humble and even gentle to those outside his 
family, but my poor mother felt the iron hand, 
not always in a velvet glove, and many learned 
to their loss that the expression of his eye and 
mouth betrayed the coolest calculation and 
cunning. 

On the other side of the table sat the dear 
mother, knitting and reading at the same time 
— stout, comfortable, loving, and peaceable. 
Dear heart, how little were your untiring min- 
istrations appreciated at that time ! She was 
the only really unselfish person I have ever 
met. Does that sound misanthropical ? Well, 
perhaps the long years of discipline have made 
me inclined that way, but I truly assert that 
my own mother and one other were the only 
two human beings I have ever met where 


14 


THE TRU BELLE FAMILY. 


selfishness did not stick out somewhere ; but 
with her, her only pleasure was to give hap- 
piness to others. One only — Eugene — ever 
knew or appreciated her, until it was too late to 
give the return that her generous heart and 
soul had earned. 

Thanks be to God he was all in all to her, 
and formed a connecting link between her soul 
and mine, for my dear mother seemed to feel 
intuitively the baseness of my heart, and to 
have a shrinking distrust of me, her only 
daughter. 

I, on my part, resented this with all my 
might, and only for Eugene there would have 
been but little love between us. 

Barney, our man-of-all-work, always sat in 
the same room with us, and was now engaged 
in his usual occupation of making halters. He 
had an enormous head, lightly fringed around 
the crown with white hair, a long white beard, 
which was stained, like his broken teeth, with 
tobacco. He spent most of his spare time in 
making halters, which my father sold to the 
neighboring farmers. He was devoted to us 
children, however, and to him we owed our 
sleds, carts, and many another pleasure. 

Jane, the maid-of-all-work, also made one of 


THE TRU BELLE FAMILY. 


15 


the family, as was the custom then in Tiononti, 
and shared our home as a near relative would 
have done. 

She was a dark, sallow, thin woman with a 
large nose and a plain face, a very pious soul, 
and a hater of all men. She was a ‘plain 
speaker, with plenty of stinging words at her 
command, which she never hesitated to use, 
and an arbitrary temper, with which she kept 
us all under pretty good subjection. I was 
the only one in the house who really dared to 
stand up and assert that black was black when 
she had decided that it was white. In conse- 
quence there was continual war between us, in 
which I, no doubt, would have come off second 
best but for my mother, who always interfered 
to make peace at the decisive moment. Let 
me, however, do her credit. She was also a 
tireless worker, an early riser, and as neat as 
wax. 

This, then, was all of our household, unless 
I include my Uncle Roswell, who visited us 
frequently, with his patent-leather boots, kid 
gloves, and immaculate ties, to the general con- 
tempt of us country folk. He was my mother’s 
brother, and so was received with all hospital- 
ity and respect. 


i6 THE TRUDELLE FAMILY. 

Eugene was a tall, graceful lad, with a crop 
of light hair which curled tightly to his head. 
He had my father’s blue eyes with all the frost 
taken out of them. A quiet, dreamy, studious 
lad, held for this reason as of little worth by 
my father. He was also very bright and lov- 
ing and full of sunshine, and made fast friends 
wherever he went. 

As for me, Louisa Trudelle, I must have 
been at that time a little nut-brown maid, with 
brown hair and short upper lip, which kept my 
teeth always in sight, red cheeks, and perpet- 
ual motion and emotion, for I was always run- 
ning, chattering, laughing, and crying, and, 
alas ! with my father to support me, always 
having my own way. 

There was generally a silver porringer of 
caudle waiting for us on our return from these 
winter excursions. We could smell the de- 
licious fragrance as we opened the door. It was 
rich with wine, spices, and many raisins. On 
the night which memory brings now before me 
mother met us with a radiant face as we came in. 

Dear hearts,” she cried, ” I began to be 
anxious about you. You are so late.” 

” Is it so late, mother?” asked Eugene 
cheerfully. 


THE TRU BELLE FAMILY. 


17 


“ It isn’t very late, I’m sure ! ” cried I at the 
same moment defiantly. 

“ It’s nearly ten o’clock,” sniffs Jane, “ and 
not late, perhaps, for them who do nothing ; 
but for those of us who have to get up and 
work at five in the morning, we should have 
been in bed an hour ago. ” 

“Well, what prevents ye, woman ? ” growled 
my father. “ Let the child alone.” 

“ I don’t go to bed in this house,” retorts 
Jane sturdily, “ until I have seen that all is 
fastened up safely for the night and the fire well 
covered. Goodness knows where you’d all be 
if I hadn’t looked after that this many a year. ” 
Off she went with her tallow candle and tin 
candlestick, slamming the door behind her as 
she went, and we heard the bolts and bars of 
the outer door slide noisily into their places. 

In the meantime we took off our out-door 
wraps and seated ourselves cosily before the 
fire, each with a smoking cup of caudle, which 
our parents shared as well. Eugene slowly 
sipped his with his eyes fixed on the dying 
embers of the fire, as if his thoughts were far 
away. I took all mine in one draught, and 
then seized the porringer and greedily finished 
what was left. 


1 8 THE TRU BELLE FAMILY, 

“ How indifferently Eugene takes his food ! ’* 
said my mother, fondly gazing on her boy. 

“ I hate that half and half way of doing 
things,” snarled my father irritably, looking at 
me, who was now scraping the bottom of my 
porringer noisily with my spoon. 

” O father, my mind misgives me ! ” said my 
mother, following his eyes. ” I will put no 
more wine in the caudle. How like she is to 
our poor Jacques ! ” 

” Who is poor Jacques ? ” said I, all interest, 
suspending the operations of the spoon. 

” Don’t be a fool, mother. There is noth- 
ing of the Gagnon about that child, thank 
Heaven ! ” and taking up his candlestick, he 
added : ” Go to bed, all of you.” 

The scene fades in mist before my eyes, and 
the sad reality of the present comes back to 
me once more. The clear, frosty air changes 
to the close, confined atmosphere necessary to 
an overcrowded room ; the pleasant firelight 
to the flaming gas-jets ; and the long, bare 
room, the plain study tables and stools, the 
sweet young faces of our children as they sit 
around me come back to my senses once more, 
the sad reality of the present returns. 

What do I say ? Not for anything that this 


THE TRUDELLE FAMILY, 


19 


world could bring, not for even the dear ties 
of flesh and blood would I change this new 
inward hope, this sensible fellowship with God, 
and the blessedness of working with and for 
Him for souls most precious, the price of His 
blood. 

As I gaze around the long table and remem- 
ber how they love me — most unlovable ; how 
they grieved and wept when I was so ill last 
summer ; how they clung to me weeping for 
joy when, on my recovery, I was placed in 
my present offlce — most unworthy — as their 
mistress ; above all, the great work that God 
gives us to do among souls in the great city 
around us, in the schools, hospitals, sodalities, 
and in the visitation of the sick and sorrow- 
ful ; how willingly they follow all my sugges- 
tions, and, above all, how many tell me that I 
have been the means of leading them to the 
knowledge and love of God, of showing them 
the path from a life of utter worldliness to one 
of heavenly peace and happiness, my heart is 
ready to break with rapture, and I can only 
bow my head with a soulfelt Domine non 
sum dignus. 


CHAPTER 11. 


CHILDHOOD. 

I WAS only twelve years old and smaller than 
many at eight, and Eugene was fourteen when 
we were removed from the school at Tiononti. 
The cause was sad enough, and may, in part, 
explain the apparent shipwreck which I after- 
wards made of my life. 

The schools of the province in those days 
were primitive enough, but we were satisfied, 
for we knew no better. Our school was a low, 
square brick building of two rooms — a large 
room, which was the school proper, and a small 
room, leading off, built as a recitation-room 
for the use of the assistant teacher, if there 
were need of one — but there never was. 

What a forlorn and desolate place it was as 
it rises before my memory ! Three sides of the 
room were filled with rough, wooden forms and 
benches rising in tiers, one above the other, 
like the seats in an amphitheatre. There was 


20 


CHILDHOOD. 


21 


always an unwholesome atmosphere of dust, 
chalk, and small boys about. 

Jane used always to keep a large rose gera- 
nium growing in our sitting-room at home, 
which she shook up vigorously when father, 
Eugene, or Barney entered, averring that “ she 
couldn’t never abide the smell of men folks, 
that she couldn’t.” 

As for me, the odor of leather boots, tobacco, 
or even of the stable was most welcome, asso- 
ciating, as it did, memories of the two most 
dear to me in the world — my father and Eugene; 
but I was describing our school, and am wan- 
dering off in a way most confusing to my read- 
ers, as I fear I shall often do. 

The forms and floor were well splashed with 
ink, owing to the ink fights common among 
our. lads, when they threw it at each other 
plentifully from the nibs of their pens. The 
floors were always gritty and sandy under foot, 
as they were swept but seldom, and washed — 
never. 

Eugene’s name for me was the ” Squirrel,” 
because, he said, I had the sharp eyes and 
inquisitive turn of the head of that little 
animal, and was always chattering, showing 
my teeth and laughing, while I could jump and 


22 


CHILDHOOD. 


climb like any squirrel. He was beginning 
now, however, to lecture me on my tomboy 
ways, and made me at times ashamed of them. 
All this came to an end on that fatal day that 
I spoke of. 

It was time for the boys’ recess, and the mo- 
ment the master reached his hand for the bell, 
before he could touch it, away they rushed, 
pell-mell, one over the other, out of the stifling, 
dusty room, and into the clear, crisp air of the 
September day. 

I heard them calling sides on the playground 
for a game of ball, and it was too much — I 
could bear it no longer. Up went my hand. 

“ Master Croke,” said I pleadingly, “ if you 
please, may I take my book to the recitation- 
room ; it is too noisy in here for me to study. 
I cannot get my lesson.” 

I was a great favorite with Master Croke. 
He seldom refused me a favor, and he granted 
this one with a ready cheerfulness and a want 
of suspicion that should have made me blush. 
My example was quickly followed by another 
pupil, who saw through the ruse, and hers by 
a third, who followed me into the recitation- 
room. Then the upraised hands multiplied, 
but no more were allowed to come, for even 


CHILDHOOD. 


23 


Master Croke began to suspect that it could 
not be for the purpose of close application to 
our lessons that so many begged to try the 
quiet of another room. 

The windows of the recitation-room had a 
view of the playground, and on entering the 
room I instantly ran to them and looked out. 
The boys had finished choosing sides, and were 
now deciding the question of the innings. The 
way they settled it was in this manner : The 
two leaders took a bat between them and tossed 
it in the air. Either one of them caught it as 
it came down. Holding the bat still in the 
spot where he caught it, he presented it to the 
rival leader, who grasped it in his turn, as 
near as possible to the hand of the first one, 
and so on alternately, until the top of the bat 
was reached. Then the one who held it last in 
his grasp was the winner, but he must have 
sufficient hold of the bat to enable him to 
throw it over his head. 

I watched this trial going on with intense 
interest. Then I looked around for Eugene. 
He was nowhere to be seen, and I knew he 
had gone down to the bank of a little stream 
which flowed near our school with one of his 
cronies, to get specimens for our natural history 


24 


CHILDHOOD, 


museum at home — a collection of which he was 
very proud, and which I held in great venera- 
tion for his sake, though it seemed to me great 
nonsense. 

The hand of the leader had now reached the 
top of the bat, and Eugene was safely out of 
sight. The leader who was to have the first 
innings was a good-natured boy and a great 
favorite of mine. I knew he would let me 
play. The temptation was great. 

There was but a short half inch of the bat left 
for the leader to grasp, but he held it securely, 
and threw the bat over his head with a trium- 
phant shout. At the same time I jumped 
lightly from the window, some eight feet from 
the ground, and with a merry cry of “ My first 
in ! ” seized the bat, ran, and placed myself in 
position for the game. 

“ Three cheers for the Squirrel ! ” shouted 
my leader, and boys on both sides gave them 
with a hearty good-will. My pleasure was not 
one whit abated by the contemptuous and 
scandalized looks and whispers of the two 
girls left behind me in the window of the reci- 
tation-room, though I confess that it was a 
great relief to have Eugene still absent. 

Four young elms had been planted in the 


CHILDHOOD. 


25 


sandy soil of our playground by the school 
committee that year with the hope that they 
would shade the grounds in time, as it was 
nothing but a sand-bank then. We had consti- 
tuted these young trees as the bases, or goals, 
as we called them, for our ball games. The 
treatment they received in consequence would 
have been sufficient to have killed any ordinary 
tree. We would stop our grand rush to reach 
the base before we were struck by the ball, by 
catching hold of one of these little trees and 
bending it till the top touched the ground. In 
spite of this hard treatment, however, they 
grew and flourished so well that I think it 
must be the best method of growing trees, for 
the last time I saw them they were quite large, 
tall and graceful, shading well the land, now no 
longer sandy. 

All went well with the ball game in spite of 
my bad behavior, which had not yet been dis- 
covered by Master Croke, until I was running 
between the second and third base. Then the 
ball was thrown full at me. I saw it coming. 
It was a low ball, and with a flying leap into 
the air I managed to quite jump over it as it 
passed under me. All operations were sus- 
pended, and both sides gave cheer after cheer 


26 


CHILDHOOD. 


of applause, as I stood proud and elated on the 
base. Pride must have its fall, and the unusual 
noise brought Master Croke to the door. He 
stood looking out on the grounds, bell in hand, 
and with him, to my dismay, was Eugene, who 
had just returned to the school. 

The severe, disapproving looks of these two 
dear friends of mine only served to add fuel to 
the flame, and made me more reckless and de- 
fiant than ever. At this moment the girls, 
thinking that Master Croke had gone to call in 
the boys, came pouring out of their door, as 
was the custom, before the boys were fairly in. 

I looked round to find a means of escape 
from the reproof which I knew I so richly de- 
served. There was standing by the roadside 
and just outside the school yard a large and 
heavy hay cart with a long pole, which some 
farmer had left there. Springing into this, I 
called out defiantly : 

‘'Jump in ; jump in, girls ! Hurrah, boys, 
give us a ride before you go in ! ” 

How easily are children led into mischief and 
wrong-doing ! In spite of the master’s bell and 
shout of command, nearly all of the girls jumped 
into the cart, and the boys, seizing the pole, 
dragged us off down a steep hill. The road 


CHILDHOOD. 


27 


which led past our school was crossed at the 
foot of this hill by the railroad track, and just 
as we started to go down the hill I heard the 
sound of the engine whistle. 

In vain I shouted. No one heeded me in 
the general tumult, and with eyes starting out 
of my head with terror, I called and cried in 
vain as I strove to look down the track and see 
if indeed the express was coming. I knew it 
was due at this hour, and the consequences of 
my wild behavior chilled my soul with horror. 

At first the boys drew the cart with some 
difficulty, but very soon it became unmanage- 
able, and pushed the boys on faster than 
they could run. It rolled along at a tre- 
mendous speed, and then it was save who can. 
One by one the lads jumped to one side and 
left us to our fate. Just round the curve ahead 
.the express appeared in sight. There seemed 
no possible hope for us. Both train and cart 
were rushing towards each other with tremen- 
dous speed. All were silent enough now. I 
know not why we did not jump, but instead we 
cowered silent and trembling at the bottom of 
the cart and awaited our fate. 

Only by the direct intervention of a merciful 
Providence were we saved from that dreadful 


28 


CHILDHOOD. 


death. The lads had all dropped the pole, 
which was ploughing along the road in front 
of the cart, and it now suddenly struck against 
a rock in the road with tremendous force, 
sending the front of the cart high in the air, 
and scattering us girls in every direction ; as 
the express rushed by the cart was within six 
feet of the track. 

“ Wal, fer cuttin’ up capers you air the 
beater, Louisa Trudelle, of all the gals ever I 
seen,” was the first sound that met my ears as 
I came to myself. I started up, but was fain 
to fallback again, so faint and sick was I. The 
master was holding me, and Eugene, with a 
dreadfully anxious face, was throwing water in 
my face from his cap, which he had filled from 
the brook by the side of the road. In front 
of me stood Jane with a sternly forbidding 
aspect, and it was she who had just delivered 
herself of the above remark. 


CHAPTER III. 


DEATH. 

Where am I? What has happened?” 
cried I, springing to my feet once more, and 
again I was obliged to sit down, being both 
dizzy and faint. 

There was noise enough now ; though no 
one was seriously injured, yet there was all 
the more noise and crying for that very reason. 

“ Come, Louie,” said Eugene gently, ” we 
had better get home and see what’s wanted. 
Jane has been sent to fetch us. Do you think 
you can walk now, dear ? ” 

I did not attempt to stir, but leaned back 
against the fence. A cold, dark cloud seemed 
to overshadow my heart, and caused it to sink 
in my breast with a dull ache, a dread of some 
unknown trouble before me. The chief 
troubles of my life had been heretofore the 
consequences of my many misdemeanors. 
There was generally one of those in pickle, and 
29 


30 


DEA TH. 


I began to consider what would be the conse- 
quences of the present one and wonder how it 
had been found out so quickly at home as to 
bring Jane after us. 

The master had now left us and gone back 
to the school without a word of reproach. The 
wounded had all begun to recover and disperse. 
They were going in little groups of twos and 
threes up the hill, and now we three were left 
alone on the roadside. Eugene repeated his 
question with a white face and pitying eyes, 
placing his arms around me as he spoke, and 
trying to help me rise. 

“No, no, I cannot, “ I began to cry, and 
then Jane advanced, saying : 

Here, I will help her. Such airs and non- 
sense.” 

But no sooner did her hand touch me than I 
sprang to my feet as from an electric shock, 
saying petulantly : 

I can walk well enough. Let me alone, 
'jane.” 

M — m, I thought so,” said she. “ If I 
had the training of you, my lady, there would 
be a better piece of goods on the market soon, 
or Tm much mistaken.” 

Off she started with a sniff and toss of her 


BE A TH. 


31 


head down the road alone, and I turned to 
Eugene. 

How did she find out ? ” 

“ O Louie,” said he, now breaking down 
with an irrepressible sob, “ it's mother, and she 
is very sick and has sent for us ! ” 

I gazed at him in startled silence, and then, 
hand in hand, we walked after her down the 
road towards home with downcast heads and 
sorrowful hearts filled with an unknown dread 
of what awaited us. 

We had left a happy home that morning, 
merry children without a care, but oh, how 
changed we found it on our return ! The 
kitchen, for we entered through that room, 
was as neat and sunny as ever, but there was a 
dreadful silence and desolateness about it that 
seemed to oppress my heart so that I could 
hardly breathe. An old, tall clock stood in 
the corner. It had been there for years before 
my birth, and as we poor, forlorn youngsters 
stood for a moment hesitating at the door, 
afraid to venture in, it seemed to my excited 
fancy to be saying, in a persistent kind of hor* 
ror-struck way : ” Think of it ! Think of it ! 
Think of it ! ” 

Father and mother always slept in a room 


32 


D£A TH. 


leading off the kitchen. There was some one 
talking there in loud, unnatural tones, and 
Eugene, finding that I still held back, dropped 
my hand and went in alone. 

'' Don’t leave me,’’ cried I, but seeing that 
he still went on, I followed him timidly. 

On the threshold of the room my steps were 
arrested by a sight that seemed to freeze my 
very soul. My dear mother, whom we had 
left that morning in her usual state of health 
and serenity, so far as we knew, now sat raised 
on her pillows, her cheeks purple for want of 
breath, her voice raised to the highest pitch of 
excitement as the words came with effort be- 
tween the gasps of breathing. 

Father lay beside her on the bed deathly 
white, and looking more dead than she did., 
like one quite stunned by a heavy blow. 

Standing by the pillow at her head was a tall, 
slender man in a black soutane and biretta. 
Just below him was a little table with some 
balls of white cotton and other articles, which 
I afterwards heard were used for the last sacra- 
ments of the Catholic Church, but at that time 
I had no idea what it all meant, and my be- 
wilderment was very great. 

Old Barney sat in a chair at the side of the 


DBA TH, 


33 


room, with his face buried in his hands and his 
elbows on his knees, while Jane, the picture of 
wrath and disdain, stood at the foot of the bed, 
positively glaring at the stranger. 

What is the matter?” I shrieked. ” O 
mother, mother, what ails you ? ” 

Louisa ! ” hissed Jane warningly ; how she 
always hissed out that name ! 

Regardless of her word and gesture of warn- 
ing, I gave a spring, lighted on the foot of the 
bed, and sat crouched there like the veritable 
squirrel that I was. 

Eugene had quietly knelt down by the bed- 
side, and had taken the dear, cold hand in his, 
and was resting his cheek against it. He 
seemed, as usual, to have intuitively taken in 
the scene before him, and was unwilling to in- 
trude himself, even on her to whom he had 
always been most dear. 

But mother paid no attention either to 
Eugene or me. Her life, alas ! was fast ebbing 
away, and all her strength was given to the 
father. He held her hand as he lay ‘beside 
her, and she tried to press his from time to 
time, as she gasped out : 

” Promise me, husband. I have sinned in 
giving way to you in this. You promised me 


34 


DEA TH. 


the boy, but I have let him go your way for 
the sake of peace. Now I must stand before 
the Lord to answer to Him for it. Promise 
me to send him to the college, the Fathers’ 
college, or I cannot rest in peace.” 

There was a silence, and, in agonizing tones, 
my poor mother reiterated her request again 
and again : 

” Promise me. I know I can depend on 
your keeping your word if you promise me. 
Promise me, and let me rest in peace. You 
said you would when we married. Oh, I can- 
not bear this much longer ! Promise me now. ’ ’ 

” I promise you, Marie,” said my father, in 
low, distinct tones. ” The lad shall be sent, 
and I will not interfere in his free choice.” 

There was a weak endeavor to draw away her 
hands from those detaining them, as if to lift 
them in thanksgiving, and then the cord that 
held her poor soul snapped, and my mother 
fell back on the pillows dead ; children though 
we were who had never seen death before, 
we knew that we had met with the greatest 
misfortune that can befall a child — we were 
motherless. 

Too frightened and shocked to resist or 
grieve, we submitted while Jane hustled us out 


DEA TH. 


35 


of the room. Eugene disappeared in the barn, 
his usual hiding-place when he wished to be 
alone ; but I, striving to throw off the dull ache 
at my heart, from the remorse of conscience 
and remembrance of my waywardness, went 
through the eating of my supper and ordinary 
routine as usual. This caused many a sneer 
and remark from Jane concerning “ them as had 
no heart,” hearing which, I began to hum a 
song lightly to show how little I cared for her. 

That evening the stranger had Eugene and 
me in the parlor with him. We learned that 
his name was Father Clement Ursel, from the 
Jesuit College at Windsor, some thirty miles 
north of us. He told us stories, and made us 
clever sketches of the college, until he had won 
our hearts and made us forget our sorrow for a 
little. Eugene, particularly, seemed com- 
pletely fascinated, and clung to him till the 
last moment of his leaving us that night. We 
heard the next day that he had gone back to 
the college, and it was not till some days after- 
wards that I heard the truth with a rebellious 
heart. 

My poor mother, it seems, was born and bred 
a Catholic. When she married my father it 
was with the agreement that their children 


3 ^ 


DEA TH. 


should be educated alternately Catholic and 
Protestant. Eugene, the first-born, was, ac- 
cording to this agreement, to be my mother’s 
child, but her easy-going, timid nature had not 
the courage to oppose my father, and as she 
had always given way to his will in all things, 
she had put off asserting her rights from day 
to day, or of carrying out her own religious 
duties, and she never attended any church. 
Thus her religion had become a thing of the 
past that all had forgotten, and we children 
knew nothing about it. 

Death, however, had come suddenly and 
had awakened the sleeping conscience. Moth- 
er’s first cry in her agony was for a priest. 
Father Ursel was at that time giving a mission 
at Tiononti. He was hastily summoned, and 
prepared her for her death. 

My father we knew would keep his promise, 
and so it came to pass that my brother, the 
light of my life, and my only guide upward to 
the higher life, was taken from me and sent to 
Windsor that very month. 


CHAPTER IV. 


RETURN. 

“ Huh ! I hate a Catholic priest wuss than 
a rattlesnake, and them Jesuits is the wust of 
the hull bilin’.” This remark was made by 
Jane, who was at the same time gazing medi- 
tatively at Eugene. 

Two weeks had gone by since mother’s 
death, and the time had come when Eugene 
and I must be separated. He was to go the 
next day to the grammar school connected 
with the college and remain there a month. 
At the end of that time he was to decide for 
himself, and might return home if he so wished ; 
but if he decided to stay, he must stay for good 
and all. We were not to have him at home 
even for the vacations. Such was the father’s 
dictum, which none of us ever dreamed of dis- 
puting. 

‘ ‘ I have promised your mother, my lad, ’ ’ said 
father, with a white, stern face and compressed 
37 


38 


RETURN. 


lips, “ and I will keep my word at all costs ; 
but understand this, if at any time after the ex- 
piration of one month you wish to leave those 
people up there, you have only to come home ; 
or if at any time in the future you wish to 
adopt your father’s religion, and will promise 
me to have nothing whatever to do with Catho- 
lics, your old home shall be open to you, and 
your place here as my son and heir ; but until 
you are ready to give up forever your school 
and all that will be taught you there you can- 
not come home, not even for one hour. I will 
not have the seeds of popery scattered in this 
house by any one. You understand this, my 
lad?” 

” Yes, father,” said Eugene, looking at my 
father with great, questioning eyes, and hesi- 
tating as though he would have asked a ques- 
tion ; but father turned away abruptly, evident- 
ly not wishing to talk further on the matter. 

Eugene and I, however, took great comfort 
in the promise that he might come home again 
at the end of a month. We were sure that 
he would wish to come, and many were the 
parties and expeditions that we planned for the 
coming winter. 

We were all seated before the log fire in the 


RETURN. 


39 


kitchen on the night before his departure when 
Jane burst out with her judgment on the mat- 
ter. The sitting-room had by common consent 
been closed since my mother’s death, Jane say- 
ing that she would not be bothered dusting 
and sweeping an extra room where no one 
went. My father had taken to his little room, 
where he transacted his business and kept his 
accounts, and we children to the kitchen when 
we were in the house, which was not oftener 
than we could help. 

“ Wal, ” said Barney, slowly removing his 
pipe to answer Jane, and rubbing his head 
thoughtfully, “ when I hear folks abused as 
them air, I alius likes to hear the other side of 
the question. I kinder calc’late they’s Jesuits, 
an Jesuits. The one who was here was a fair- 
spoken man.” 

” Fair-spoken enough, no doubt,” said Jane 
scornfully, ” but wait till our boy comes home 
agin, an’ we’ll see what he has to say. Sum- 
mer and winter folks, an’ then you knows ’em, 
so I says.” 

No one disputed this well-known fact, and 
Barney continued in his slow, quiet tone, so 
unlike Jane’s : 

” I was down to the tarvern yisterday, an’ I 


40 


RETURN. 


picked up a Lunnon paper, an’ when I see a 
piece about them ’ere Jesuits I ast leave to 
bring it hum. I thought you’d like to see it 
maybe.” 

He produced his iron-bowed glasses and a 
leather pocket-book, with a strap which went 
round it three or four times. It took him 
some time to get this open, another long search 
to find the clipping referred to, and then, hold- 
ing a candle perilously near it, he peered at it 
over his glasses and said, rather uncertainly : 

” The paper was the Lunnon Saturday Re- 
view, 

Jane’s patience, if she had any, now quite 
gave way. 

Don’t say?” she said scornfully and sar- 
castically. “For the land’s sake, man, let the 
lad read it if we are to get through to-night, 
though I’ll warrant it’s not worth reading if it’s 
about that scum.” 

Maybe you’d better, lad,” said Barney, 
handing him the paper. “ My sight’s none so 
good as it war,” and with an air of relief, as 
Eugene took the paper, he resumed his pipe 
and settled himself to listen attentively. 

I can see the slender, erect form of the dear 
brother now as he took the paper and stood up 


RETURN. 


41 


to read beside the mantel, where a kerosene 
lamp was burning. As he read I watched his 
face kindle with enthusiasm and his eyes grow 
bright with admiration. 

“ There’s lots of hard words in it,” said he, 
glancing down the paper. 

” Call ’em blank, an’ fire away,” said Jane. 

And my brother read as follows : 

” RETURN. 

It was, I think, at the little port of the 
Esquina, in the Corrientes, that he came on 
board. A priest at first sight, yet not quite 
similar to other priests — at least, to those whose 
mission is only Mass and meat. A Spaniard, 
too, at first sight, with the clean-cut features 
of Old Castile, the bony hands that mark the 
man of action, and feet as square as boxes ; 
withal not commonplace, though unassuming, 
but with that look of intensity of purpose 
which many saints have shared in common with 
bull-dogs. Nobody knew him, and he did not 
seem to be a man of much importance. The 
stewards, observing that all his luggage con- 
sisted of a newspaper, which he carried under 
his arm, turned from him with disdain. The 
traders and the gamblers saw he was not one 


42 


RETURN. 


with them. Even the gauchos looked a little 
scornful, and remarked that he was probably a 
' maturango.’ In their vocabulary ‘ matu- 
rango,’ meaning a bad rider, is the most con- 
temptuous term of all. Among them a philoso- 
pher who touched his horse with his toe in 
mounting would have no reception. As for 
the itinerant opera company, even the basso 
(always the wit of an Italian opera company) 
had nothing to say about him. 

“ Still after a time, and as the steamer 
skirted the city of Corrientes and entered the 
Paraguay, it was apparent that the lonely pas- 
senger had become a favorite. Why was not 
apparent at the first sight. Certainly he knew 
the river far better in some respects than the 
Correntino pilot, and could point out various 
places where, in bygone times, such and such 
a missionary had met his fate by an Indian 
spear or arrow. 

Just between that tuft of palms under the 
mountain in the distance the Father Julian 
Lizardi, a Biscayan, received his martyr’s crown 
in 1735 at the hands of the Chiriguanas. Be- 
side his body, pierced with arrows, was found 
his breviary, open at the office for the dead, as 
if, poor soul, he had been trying to read his 


RETURN. 


43 


own funeral service. Rcquiescat in pace. There 
where you see the broken tower and ruined 
walls — the “ tapera,” as they call it here in 
these countries — the Jesuits had a town among 
the Guaycurus. This was before the Philistines 
prevailed against them, and withdrew them 
from the souls of the poor Indians.’ 

“ We left Asuncion, with its towers and 
houses hidden in orange gardens, and the great 
palaces in the style of Palladio by the river’s 
edge. Asuncion, the capital of the vice-roy- 
alty of Paraguay — in the Spanish times a terri- 
tory about as large as Europe, and now a 
sleepy, semi-Indian village, after having en- 
dured the three successive tyrannies of Francia 
and the two Lopezes — looks over the Suaco at 
the great desert, still an unknown wilderness 
of swamps and forests. Then the river nar- 
rows, and all traces of civilization are left be- 
hind. Here the Jesuit, for all had now begun 
to call him nothing else, seemed to brighten 
up as if he expected something, and his stories 
of the Jesuits of old time became more fre- 
quent. 

“ Little by little his own history came out, 
for he was not communicative, at least about 
himself. Near the Laguna de los Xarayes it 


44 


RETURN, 


appeared that the Society of Jesus had secretly 
started a mission among the Guasarapos, and 
he was of it. Never since the days of the 
Jesuits’ glory in America had any missionary 
been bold enough to make the experiment. 
Fernandez and Alvar Nunz in time past had 
written of their fierceness and intractability. 
Nuno de Chaves, the bold adventurer who 
founded the town of Sta. de la Sierra, had met 
his death close to their territory. At long in- 
tervals they had been known to come to the 
mission of El Santo Corazon, or sometimes to 
wander even as far as that of Reyes, in the 
district of the Moxos, while throughout the 
region of the Upper Paraguay stories of their 
outrages and murders were rife. In the long, 
hot nights, as the vessel drew near to Cor- 
umba, the passengers would sit and listen to 
the tales that the Jesuit told. 

Seated in a cane chair, dressed in rusty 
black, a jipijapahat, nothing about him priestly 
but his breviary and alzactiello, without an 
atom of pose, he held us spellbound. Even 
the Catalonian captain, nurtured to show his 
liberalism by hating priests of all degrees. 
Catholic and Protestant, grew quite friendly 
with the ‘ Little Crow,’ as he called him, and 


RETURN. 


45 


promised to put him ashore as near the mission 
as he could. 

“ ‘ Mission, Senor Captain? There is no 
mission — that is, now. I am the mission — 
all that now remains of it.’ 

“ Such was the case, for it appeared that the 
Indians, either tired of missions, or bored by 
preaching, or because they wished to kill a 
white man, had risen some months ago and 
burned the church and buildings, killed the 
priests, with the exception of our passenger, 
and returned to wander in the forests. 

“ ‘ Those who are dead are now in glory,’ 
our Jesuit observed, ‘ and the Indians will find 
some other pastors more successful, though 
none more self-devoted.’ 

Every one on the steamer protested, 
and the little man smiled as he informed 
us that he had escaped and made his way 
to a settlement, had gone to Buenos Ayres, 
whence he had telegraphed to Rome for or- 
ders, and received in answer the one word, 

‘ Return.’ 

“ The next day, after much protestation 
from the captain, the steamer stopped at a sort 
of clearing in the forest, lowered a boat, and 
the Jesuit went ashore. He stood for an 


46 


RETURN, 


instant, a little figure in rusty black, a midget 
against the giant trees, a speck against the 
giant vegetation. The steamer puffed and 
snorted, swung into the stream, the Jesuit 
waved his hand, and as the passengers and 
crew stood staring at him from the decks and 
rigging, walked into the forest.” 

Eugene ceased reading, and there was an 
instant of silence almost painful in its intensity. 
Jane was the first to break it. 

” H — m ! Likely story ! I like a. fool, but 
that man suits me most too well.” 

Eugene heeded her not ; his eyes were fixed 
almost pleadingly on mine, and held me spell- 
bound. 

” O my Squirrel,” said he at last, ” that 
was a life worth living ! ” 

Let’s have some nuts and cider,” said I, 
wriggling uncomfortably. ” Come, Jane, this 
is Eugene’s last night, you know.” 

“ Your father might not be well pleased, 
Louisa ; and anyway I ain’t goin’ to get no 
cider for no one unless he says so.” 

Barney, however, always obedient at that 
time to my slightest wish, had already taken 
his candle and gone down to the cellar to draw 
the cider. 


RETURN. 


47 


Jane rose, grumbling as she saw him go, and 
got out the nuts, hammer, and stone. 

Poor lad, 'twill be many a day before he 
gits anything relishin’ again. I know ’em ; 
I’ve read of ’em often enough. He’ll be 
starved to death, and beaten and shut up in 
dungeons most likely, unless he solemnly 
swears to keep all their wicked secrets and 
swears by the Pope.” 

How dare you?” I cried, stamping my 
foot. ” They shan’t touch him. You’re a 
mean old cat, Jane, to say such things. All 
he has to do is to write, and father will come 
and take him home, and he’s only going to 
stay for one month anyway, so now.” 

My lip was quivering, and there was a dread- 
ful lump in my throat, which ached so that I 
could hardly bear it as I glared indignantly at 
Jane. 

“ ’Tain’t noways likely that they’ll let him 
write,” said Jane teasingly. ” The power 
that can send a man into -the woods to be eaten 
up by the cannabiles ain’t goin’ to give way 
to a little feller like Eugene. Most likely 
they’ll make him write whatever they pleases, 
and say how good they is to him, and how he 
wants to stay.” 


48 


RETURN. 


“No one can make me write anything but 
the truth,” said Eugene proudly. 

“ Humph ! ” said Jane incredulously, with 
a toss of her head. “ Wait till you’ve tried 
being beaten black and blue, and shut up in a 
dungeon in the dark, and fed on bread and 
water for a week.” 

In the meantime Barney had come back 
with his pitcher of cold, sparkling cider, and 
stood listening with a look of consternation on 
his honest face. Suddenly his face bright- 
ened, and setting down his pitcher, he caught 
up the poker, saying : 

“ I’ll tell you how we’ll fix it, lassie. Ef the 
boy is in a tight place, and can’t write only 
what pleases ’em, an’ he wants to come home, 
let him write as they pleases, and when he 
signs his name at the foot of the letter, let him 
make a flourish like this, snake fashion,” and 
the old man drew a line like a serpent running 
in the ashes with the poker. 

Eugene said nothing, as usual, for the sake 
of peace, and as this was satisfactorily settled 
in my estimation, we threw off all uneasiness 
and kept the rest of the evening in high fes- 
tival. 


CHAPTER V. 


jane’s methods of training. 

Very early the next morning, before it was 
fully light, I was awakened by Eugene’s arms 
around my neck. He kissed me twice very 
fervently, saying in a trembling voice : 

Good-by, good-by, little Squirrel. You 
know I shall soon be back. Look out that Jane 
doesn’t make way with our things, and take 
care of yourself. I will be back before the 
frost sets in. Good-by, and God bless you.” 

” Oh, wait ! ” cried I. ” Why didn’t that 
mean old thing call me ; she promised that she 
would. ” 

‘‘ Father would not let her. ’ Don’t get up. 
It is cold, and the stage is at the door wait- 
ing,” and with one more hug and kiss he was 
gone before I could say anything more. I 
jumped out of the bed and ran to the window. 
There was a thick white fog hiding everything 
from my view, but I could see the dark, 
49 


50 JANE'S METHODS OF TRAINING. 


shadowy forms of the four horses and coach as 
they stood before our door. I heard the thump 
of Eugene’s box as it was deposited on the top, 
and the sound seemed to fall on my very heart. 
Then I heard the door of the stage slam, and 
I knew that I was left alone. 

Home is always lost on the death of the 
mother, no matter how much the semblance of 
one may be kept up, but I had not yet begun 
to realize this. Jane had not as yet taken any 
more authority upon herself than she had done 
heretofore. There had always been, as I have 
said, a certain degree of coldness and a sense 
of being misunderstood between my mother 
and me. I was shocked and terrified by her 
sudden death, but the only one I really loved 
was Eugene, and I resented his being sent 
away as only one more injustice on the part of 
my mother. 

With an aching heart and a dreary sense of 
desolation and loneliness, I crept back into bed 
and cried myself to sleep once more. 

“ Come out of this ! It is time you began 
to earn your salt and not sleep here all day, 
while other folks work their fingers to the 
bone, and no thanks for it.” 

. I was roughly awakened by this salutation, 


JANE'S METHODS OF TRAINING. 51 


together with a twitch that sent me on my 
feet in the middle of my room, and before I 
had time to know where I was the clothes were 
stripped off the bed and the window thrown 
wide open. 

I opened my mouth for an indignant expost- 
ulation, but Jane, who had entered like a hurri- 
cane, had as quickly departed, leaving me shiv- 
ering and in a temper at her rudeness. I knew 
by her array that there was a general house- 
cleaning going on, and that in the best of 
times betokened bad temper, sharpness, and 
sourness, while every part of the house would 
be generally upset and wet. I defiantly j umped 
back into bed and pulled the clothes again over 
me to show that I would have my own way. 
Jane stuck her head in once more, and said : 

“ It’s past eight o’clock. Don’t you mean 
to go to school to-day ? ” 

No,” said I decidedly; ” I am not going 
to school again until Eugene comes back to go 
with me.” 

“ Likely you’ll never go then,” she said, 
” for I’ll warrant we’ve seen the last of him. 
I don’t care. It’s time a great girl like you 
was set to work, an’ ef I’m to have the bossin’ 
of this job, you’ll do it ; but how some folks 


52 JANE'S METHODS OF TRAINING. 


can lie sleepin’ an’ snorin’ while their nearest 
and dearest die, and go off an’ leave them for- 
ever an’ ever, beats me.” 

She was walking out of the room as she 
talked, not giving me the chance of the last 
word, which I so dearly loved. “No heart,” 
I heard her saying, as she went down the hall. 
“ Ef you should cut it out an’ lay it on a plate, 
it would be so small that you couldn’t see it.” 

I laid still a while and listened to the various 
noises around, which told of the general shift- 
ing of furniture, the sounds of scrubbing and 
sweeping, but felt too miserable and listless to 
stir. Soon, however, the pangs of hunger as- 
sailed me, and a thought that drove me out of 
my bed in a hurry. 

Our museum ! Was not this the last charge 
that Eugene had given me, and even now, 
perhaps, Jane had gone into that room. I 
would get the key and keep it until Eugene 
returned. 

“ If I can only keep the old thing out ! ” 
said I, as filled with this idea I began to dress 
with trembling fingers. “ I will tell father to- 
night when he comes home, and he will not let 
her go in there.” 

My room was a little hall bedroom in the 


JANE'S METHODS OF TRAINING. 53 , 


front of the house, while Eugene’s was at the 
extreme back on the southwest corner. It 
was owing to this that I heard no noise to pre- 
pare me for the sight which met my eyes when, 
after a hasty toilet, I ran to take possession. 
Doors and windows were both wide open and 
every article banished from the room. 

It had been a pretty room. Mother had 
taken great pleasure in making it so for him, 
and he was the model of neatness and exact- 
ness himself. Now even the carpet was gone, 
and the floor had been freshly scrubbed ; not a 
vestige of anything left in either room or 
closet. I sprang to the open window. Yes, 
there they were on a rubbish heap, just as I 
had feared, waiting only for Barney’s kindling 
match to fire them — three painted, wooden 
starch boxes with a glass front, whj^h Eugene 
and I had with infinite pains fitted up for a 
museum. In one of the boxes were moths, 
beetles, and other insects, which, with the 
help of Master Croke, we had collected and 
glued in their proper order and class. In 
another were stones and minerals, some of 
which Master Croke had assured us were quite 
rare and valuable. 

I recalled what pains and trouble we had 


54 JANE'S METHODS OF TRAINING. 


had in collecting them ; how I had teased 
father for the glass slides in front, and how 
proud we were when everything was set up for 
state inspection. 

I grew positively stupid with anger and sor- 
row over the sudden and dreadful changes that 
seemed coming over my life. This was a very 
unusual state of things with me, who generally 
went off into a tantrum on the least contradic- 
tion. I was soon roused, however, from my 
stupor by the appearance of the enemy. Jane 
entered the room, carrying a bucket of hot 
soapsuds, and looking, at least so it seemed to 
me, really jubilant over the ruin she had 
wrought. 


CHAPTER VI. 


WAR. 

“ You thief ! You coward ! You liar ! ” I 
screamed. “ How dare you — " 

I got no further. I was a slightly built child, 
and one easily managed, at least physically, 
but Jane in her worst tempers never dared to 
touch me while poor mother lived. Now she 
set down her pail and, seizing me by the arm, 
shook me until I was too dizzy to stand, and 
while my feet were still sliding up and down 
on the slippery floor gave me two stinging 
blows with her wet, soapy hand in the face. 
Then she pushed me into a corner, where she 
held me while, with her dark face pushed up 
close to mine, she hissed out : 

“ Now, my lady, perhaps you know who's 
the mistress here ! I am going to fix this room 
over for your poor father. He don’t like to 
sleep downstairs no longer, for he has some 
heart and feelin’s, and it's noways likely that 
55 


56 


IVAR. 


Eugene will ever come home again. Under- 
stand that now you’ve got to toe the mark, 
and that you’re not to step foot in this house 
without I say so. It’s well for you, my fine 
lady, that the day has come when you’ve got 
some one to train you, and unless you look out 
for yourself pretty closely in future, you’ll soon 
get a double dose of worse than you’ve had 
to-day. ” 

Utterly bewildered at this strange treatment, 
and with my cheek still smarting from her 
blows, I staggered down the stairs, and found 
my way to a little room under the stairs where 
father kept his accounts and smoked. There 
was an old, primitive easy-chair covered with 
untanned goat’s skin here, and into this I crept, 
too sick and miserable to stir. 

In a few minutes I heard a stealthy step com- 
ing into the room, and lifting my head, I saw 
old Barney, with a mug of foaming beer and 
some cakes. 

“ Whisht, child ! ” said he, making a fearful 
grimace of caution and shutting the door care- 
fully ; “ she is on the putch to-day. Eat your 
breakfast now like a good child, and don’t 
mind her. Let her putch, putch, putch 
away ! ” 


JVAJ^. 


57 


‘‘ Just you wait till father gets home/' said 
I, lifting my head and rising to a sense of my 
injuries. “ She shall march for this. Look 
where she has struck me.” 

Good Lord ! ” said Barney, lifting his 
hands in consternation and gazing aghast on my 
burning cheek ; ” did she go so far as that ? ” 

'Deed she did,” said I, ” the mean, hate- 
ful, old cat ; but you wait and see what fa- 
ther'll do.” 

Barney, without much coaxing, persuaded 
me to take the beer and cakes, and then o'^^er- 
powered by the heavy ale, I sank back in the 
old chair into a deep sleep. Barney came at 
twelve and waked me, saying that my dinner 
was waiting ; but I only shook my head pee- 
vishly and refused to stir. Eight o'clock 
breakfasts and twelve o'clock dinners do not 
agree, and I also knew by past experience 
what the dinner was likely to be on house- 
cleaning days, and I had no desire to face Jane 
again until I could do so armed with the ven- 
geance of fire which I felt sure would fall on 
her head on my father's return. After Barney 
had left me, however, finding that I was no 
longer sleepy, I rose and stole softly out into 
the front yard. 


IVAI^. 


58 


“ In the sulks, eh?" I heard Jane say as I 
passed the open door. “ Well, let her stay 
there till she is starved out. It won’t be long, 
I promise ye." 

With a heart full of wrath and bitterness I 
searched for an instrument of revenge. There 
was a pile of upturned soil in the yard, where 
Barney had been digging for some purpose or 
other, and I selected from that a turf which 
was well loaded around the roots with mould 
and little pebbles. Armed with this I stole 
softly into the kitchen on tiptoe. Barney was 
seated at the dinner-table facing me, and Jane 
opposite him, with her back to the door 
through which I entered. Barney exclaimed 
with dismay on seeing my purpose, and Jane 
turned her head to see what was the matter 
just in time to receive the sod full in the 
face, as I threw it with all my strength at her 
head. 

With intense delight I saw the missile scatter 
its soil and stones all over her, and heard her 
shriek and heard the noise of the little pebbles 
falling on the plates and dishes. She sprang 
from her chair, but not quick enough for me, 
who, with a loud, mocking laugh, turned and 
fled. Up the village street I ran, swift as a 


IVAJ^. 


59 


swallow, and I exulted in my safety, for full 
well I knew that neither Barney nor Jane could 
run as swiftly as I. When I had reached the 
head of the street I left the road and turned 
to one side. Here were some bars in a rough 
board fence leading into a pasture, for the pur- 
pose of letting out the cows. 

This pasture was a favorite resort for those 
of Master Croke’s school who lived at too great 
a distance from the school to go home during 
noon intermission. I scorned to let down the 
bars, but placing my hands on the top rail, with 
a vault I was over on the other side. From 
this place I could see the stage come in, and I 
was anxious not to lose a moment before re- 
porting Jane's outrageous conduct to my father 
on his return that night. 

The ground here sloped suddenly down into 
a deep and lovely valley, at the bottom of 
which ran a quite large stream called the mill 
brook, as the water turned the old stone mill 
at the other end of the valley. Knowing that 
there were several hours yet before I might 
expect the stage, I determined to explore the 
valley through the bed of the brook as I was 
wont to do, though always before in the com- 
pany of my dear brother. I ran as lightly 


6o 


IVAJ^. 


down the hill as if I were to meet a dear friend, 
and then leaped across a narrow cleft in the 
great rock, through which the waters of the 
brook rushed from a deep, still pool above, 
with tremendous force, and formed strong 
rapids when the waters were up ; but now in 
September I could easily jump across the cur- 
rent to the rock on the other side. After I 
had done so I pulled off my shoes and stock- 
ings for greater freedom of action, and lay 
down on the warm rock and began bathing my 
head, aching from the effects of the beer and 
passion, in the cool, clear current. 

Down in the quiet, deep, green valley Mother 
Nature took me in hand. The angry tumult 
of passion was stilled in my heart, and the 
tense strain and ache there seemed released by 
the soothing murmur of the swift gliding of 
the water, as with a swift babble and swirl it 
ran into another deep basin below. There 
was no room here for anger, hatred, or ill-will. 
I was quieted, comforted, and soothed, as it 
seems to me that all hearts must be who are 
left alone with our common mother. Nature, 
and will listen to the voice of God. 

I was not long alone, however. Soon some of 
the other children of our school joined me. Of 


IVAR. 


6i 

course I aired my troubles, and soon raised a 
general storm of indignation against Jane, and 
received much sympathy and a share of the 
lunch pails. But as there was nothing to do 
until my father’s return, we wisely forgot our 
troubles and fell to building dams, making 
mud-pies, and generally doing really hard work 
in the shape of play. 

I am sorry to say that I had no difficulty 
in persuading some of my special friends 
to omit school that afternoon, and it was 
not till the sun was far down in the west and 
nearly time for the stage to come in that they 
left me. 

I then made myself as clean as possible un- 
der the circumstances, but I was a muddy, 
wet, untidy child as I walked down the street 
to the hotel to meet my father. The stage 
came in on good time, and it was with great 
delight that I recognized my father’s stiff, spare 
form getting out from the inside with the other 
passengers. 

I sprang forward and caught his hand in both 
of mine in an ecstasy of delight at having at 
least one of the old supports of my former 
life. 

His frosty blue eyes softened and brightened 


62 


IVAJ^, 


as he saw me, and then changed to a look of 
annoyance at my untidy appearance. 

“Where have you been, child?” said he; 
“ and how could Jane let you come down here 
in such a condition ? ” 

I still clung to his hand, but my delighted 
skip changed into a sober walk at his tone of 
annoyance ; and then, without asking for Eu- 
gene, I poured out my troubles with loud 
complaints of Jane’s outrageous conduct that 
day. 

“ Jane struck you ! ” he said in astonish- 
ment. “It must have been by accident, then. ’ ’ 

“ Indeed, indeed, it was not,” said I ; “ and 
then she shook me so that my head has ached 
awfully ever since. You will send her away, 
father, won’t you ? ” 

“ Well, well, child, we will see,” said he, 
rather soberly I thought. “ I can’t believe 
that she meant to hurt you.” 

It was growing quite dark when we entered 
by the kitchen door. The room was a greeting 
in itself, spotlessly neat, with a bright fire 
burning on the hearth, a little table covered 
with the whitest of linen, and a plate laid — 
alas ! only one. Jane in her neat, black dress, 
spotless apron, and white linen collar and cuffs. 


WAJ^. 


63 


welcomed him respectfully, and gave me the 
glance of a warrior thirsting for blood — a 
look which was speedily returned with one of 
triumphant defiance. 

I was hungry, for I had had but a scant din- 
ner, and the healthful out-door exercise had 
completely restored my usual health and spirits. 

“ Well, well, this is comfort,’’ said my father, 
after he had returned both Jane’s and Barney’s 
respectful greetings, and seated himself at the 
little table. ‘‘ After all, there is no place like 
home. ” 

There was a fried chicken done to a turn, 
and crisp, brown toast with coffee, clear and 
golden brown, just as my father liked it, for he 
was something of an epicure. I stood regard- 
ing him with a quivering lip, but he paid no 
attention to me. 

“ I want some supper,” I cried at last, burst- 
ing into sobs and tears. ” I haven’t had any- 
thing to eat to-day.” 

” Never mind, daughter,” said father sooth- 
ingly, ” here is enough for both. Get you a 
chair and sit down here.” 

” Louisa can have some bread and milk at 
the side table,” said Jane, taking the chair 
from me. ” She was out playing with the 


64 


IVAI^. 


boys at the mill brook when supper was ready. 
Coffee ain’t no kind of stuff for such as her. 
She’ll be keeping us awake all night with her 
tantrums if she drinks it.” 

” True, true. Daughter, be a good child 
and mind Jane. You know there is no mother 
now to look after you.” 

” She’s not the mother of me,” said I reso- 
lutely, bringing another chair to the table, 
thereby adding somewhat to father’s discom- 
fort ; but I was forced to be content with bread 
and milk, for father was plainly coming under 
Jane’s dominion, and I was conscious myself 
of a new power dawning over us all. 

Supper finished, father stood up for the long 
grace with which he always began and finished 
his meals, and then, instead of immediately 
retreating to his den, as he had done of late, 
he stood for an instant, and drawing me towards 
him, said in a constrained and uncomfortable 
manner : 

How is this, Jane — the child complains of 
having been struck to-day. You, I am sure, 
know better than that. There is some misun- 
derstanding, I suppose. I know very well that 
you would never harm any one in this house, 
where you have served so long and faithfully.” 


65 

Jane courtesied, and with an air of injured 
innocence said : 

“ I am sorry to speak of it, and hoped to 
spare you complaints, as our dear mistress 
always did, but as you have asked me, I sup- 
pose I must tell you." 

" She shook me, slapped me, and burned up 
our museum ! " interrupted I, quivering with 
anger. 

I only wish to know the truth, daughter," 
said my father coldly. " Let Jane tell her 
story. " 

Well, then, this is the story," said Jane. 

I was up long before daylight, as you know, 
sir, to see that you and Master Eugene had 
your coffee hot and comfortable before you 
went off, and then I fell to cleaning house, so 
that everything should be all settled and quiet 
when you returned, and glad I was to have this 
little busybody sleep well into the day, so that 
we could have a little quiet and comfort and 
get through our work in peace. Suddenly, 
however, she burst in upon me in a rage, and 
called me every kind of name, because I had 
settled on fixing up Master Eugene’s room as 
the best one for you, and had thrown out some 
of their old rubbish. But seein’ is believin’, and 


66 


IVAJ^. 


I will show you with your own eyes what Bar- 
ney and me has to put up with when you are 
not round, sir/’ 

Going to a closet, she brought out a tray on 
which was the sod, with the earth and pebbles 
still round it, and some broken glass and china, 
which had been put there by Jane herself, and 
were not the result of my attack. 

“ This,*” said Jane, with an air of long-suffer- 
ing patience, and with her voice in a high, 
nasal key — “ this is what me an’ Barney has 
to put up with when you are not round, an’ if 
the child ain’t goin’ to be controlled I hereby 
give my notice to quit, for I ain’t a nigger 
slave to hev such things throwed at me an’ 
Barney when we are eatin’ our dinner peace- 
ably.” 

” Louisa,” said my father sternly, giving me 
one of his frostiest looks, ” is it possible that 
this is true ? ” 

I hung my head in guilty self-consciousness. 

” The hardness of that child is unknown to 
you, sir,” said Jane, ” for her mother used to 
take her part an’ shield you from the knowl- 
edge of her cuttin’s up.” (O mother, that was 
so true !) ” Our lives are both in danger, Bar- 

ney’s an’ mine ; but I have no wish to take 


IVAR. 


67 


care of her — not me ! I have enough to do, 
gracious knows, without trainin’ wild young 
Indians, an’ I ain’t goin’ to come between 
flesh an’ blood. My brother, he is wantin’ me 
the wust way, as his wife is a poor, shiftless 
creatur’, an’ I guess I’ll be goin’ down there as 
soon as you can suit yourself, sir.” 

Oh, no, no, my good Jane, you must never 
think of leaving us ! We could not get on 
without you now your mistress is gone. The 
child, of course, must be disciplined, and I am 
sure she will obey you and give you no more 
trouble. I will see that she does better in 
future.” 

He walked off nervously as he spoke, with 
me clinging still to his hand and casting 
back looks of aversion and defiance towards 
Jane. 

” Louisa,” said Jane, dropping her tone once 
more into her usual low hiss, ” come back here 
and go to bed.” 

I only thrust my head forward in an exact 
imitation of hers, which brought a sudden ex- 
plosion of laughter from Barney, which he as 
quickly checked in alarm, and then I thrust 
out my tongue at her as far as I could pos- 
sibly push forth that small but mischievous 


68 


IVAR. 


member, and still keeping hold of father’s hand, 
went with him to his den. 

Here we found everything prepared again 
for his comfort. There was a small, square, 
cast-iron stove, which shone resplendent with 
blacking, and a cheery wood-fire, which was 
roaring forth a welcome to the master, for the 
September nights in our northern region are 
cold. His study lamp was burning brightly, 
and his dressing-gown and slippers laid out, 
while his mail lay beside the lamp waiting to 
be opened. He released his hand from mine, 
and with a weary sigh seated himself in the 
old calf-skin chair and began to open his 
mail. 

“ Father,” said I, ” won’t you send that 
woman off and not let her beat and abuse me 
any more?” I spoke in an aggrieved tone, 
again on the verge of tears ; and father, as if 
he could bear no more, turned suddenly upon 
me with an air of desperation. 

” Louisa,” said he, ” you are old enough 
now to understand what I say, so listen to me 
and obey. Jane is far more necessary to the 
comfort of this house than you are. If I 
should send Jane away, as you propose, you 
would still want your meals served well and 


IVAR, 69 

the house kept clean and comfortable. Who, 
then, would perform all this labor — you ? 

My head fell, for I did not know even how 
to dress myself without assistance. 

Now,” he continued, ” I must have peace. 
I cannot have all this petty squabbling between 
women going on in this house. You must 
manage to get on peaceably with Jane, and if 
you have any difficulties with her settle them 
yourself.” 

But, father,” said I, struggling to repress 
my tears, ” I wish I might go away to school, 
like Eugene.” 

I can’t afford to send away two of you at 
once. Now run away like a good child, and 
don’t come in here when I am busy, for I can’t 
attend to two things at once, and never could.” 

He turned his back on me and put on his 
glasses preparatory to work, and I went slowly 
out of the room. My heart was like lead in 
my bosom, and the loneliness of despair was 
crushing me down. 

Rather than encounter Jane again I stole up 
in the dark to my room, and for the first time 
in my life undressed by myself. Slipping off 
my clothing as quickly as I could, I left it 
on the floor and crept into bed. The numb 


70 


IVAIi. 


feeling at my heart gave way to passionate 
tears and sobs. After a little my father’s rea- 
soning came back to me, “ You could not do 
these things,” he had said. Why could I not 
learn to do them as well as Jane, to give my 
father and myself all those comforts which he 
so prized as to think Jane was of so much more 
importance to him than I? Yes, that was it. 
I would be very good to Jane, and beg her to 
let me help her, and would watch and do just 
what she did. Perhaps in a month, when 
Eugene came home, I should be able to show 
father that I could do all the housekeeping, 
and then I would tell Jane to go and never 
come into our house any more. I thought 
how surprised she and every one else would 
be, and what unlimited parties and candy-pulls 
Eugene and I would have after I became the 
housekeeper. 

Immensely comforted with this idea I dried 
my eyes, and was just sinking off to sleep, 
when I was suddenly roused by the appearance 
of the enemy. I sat upright in bed, with a 
great fear in my heart. She was bearing a 
short candle in a small tin candlestick, which 
she had placed in a tin wash-basin to prevent 
the tallow, from which she herself had made it, 


WAR. 


71 


dripping on the floor. This she placed on my 
bureau and glanced grimly round the room 
with a contemptuous sniff at its untidy appear- 
ance. Then she closed the door carefully be- 
hind her. 

What do you want in here, Jane ? ” said I, 
my heart beating quickly with fear and appre- 
hension, though I put on a defiant air and tone. 

I will tell you that presently," said she 
quietly, and going to work, she folded every 
article of my dress neatly and put the room in 
perfect order. She took off the patchwork 
quilt from the bed, folded it straight and evenly, 
and hung it over the foot-board. How well I 
can see it now, as with deft, quick fingers she 
so quickly brought such a different aspect to 
the room, while I sat watching her silently in 
the dim light of the candle, trying to keep up 
an air of bravado, while my heart was sinking 
within me ! 

When she had finished, and all was in perfect 
order, she came to the bedside and stood over 
me, while I retreated to the other side of the 
bed, and cowered as closely as possible to the 
wall. 

" Now, Louisa," she hissed, speaking in her 
usual half whisper, " this is the way I shall 


72 


IVAJ^. 


always expect to see this room, and neither do 
I expect you to soil and tear your clothes any 
more as you have hitherto done. When you 
do, you will suffer for it and repair the damages 
yourself. More than that, I am going to pun- 
ish you for your disobedience and impudence 
to me to-night when I told you to go to bed. 
Now and here we will settle who is to be the 
master, once and for all.” 

It was in vain that I fought and screamed 
and struggled. Jane did her work thoroughly, 
and did not leave me that night until I Avas 
conquered and had begged her forgiveness on 
my knees, with promises of perfect submission 
in the future. But although I was outwardly 
conquered, my soul within was full of black- 
ness, darkness, and rage. ” Gnashing of teeth” 
is the expressive term of the Holy Scriptures 
when speaking of such a state of feeling. Had 
I been strong enough to have killed Jane that 
night, I doubt not but that I should have 
done it. 

O parents, teachers, and all who have the 
awful responsibility of training young souls, 
remember that while force will bring outward 
order and submission, it has never yet helped 
one soul upwards towards heaven. I count it 


IVAR. 


73 . 


from that night that I began my downward 
course. 

Want of discipline, we are told, brings forth 
bad fruits, but want of love drives the soul 
more quickly than any other environment inta 
the outer darkness and away from God. 


CHAPTER VII. 


MORE OF jane’s METHODS. 

During the next month I constantly haunted 
the post-office with the assured hope, with- 
out which lay the borders of despair, that 
Eugene would write to be taken home. Father 
had said that he had left him looking very 
glum, and that he had begged to return, but 
had been told that, in deference to the promise 
made to our mother, he must stay there for his 
month of probation. “ But,” added father, 
smiling grimly, ” I think he will have had 
enough in a month to last him for a lifetime.” 

Jane pursed up her lips tightly and tossed 
her head, as much as to say that she knew 
better, and much as I was longing to fly out 
at her, or at least make a face expressive of my 
disgust, I dared not, but hung my head in 
silence. Although I knew that Eugene was 
not to write for a month, I began the next day 
going down to look for a letter. 

74 


MORE OF JANE'S METHODS. 75 

I feel now a sense of pity at the remem- 
brance of my little figure quivering with im- 
patience as I watched the slow movements of 
the postmaster as he sorted the small mail, 
peering over his glasses at each letter, and 
then carefully placing it in the right box. 
He, too, at last learned to expect my coming, 
and knew what I came for, and was really 
sorry to disappoint me day by day. 

“ Nothing for you to-day. Miss Lou," he 
would say regretfully. " He won’t write. Boys 
never do, unless they are made to ; but he’ll 
come right back some day and surprise you.’’ 

This idea only gave me another hour of 
longing suspense. I could not get away to 
meet the stage when it came in, but my senses 
were all on the alert to listen for the galloping 
of the four horses, and the peculiar squeak of 
the leather springs on which the coach was 
hung. Jonathan Fairbrother, our stage-driver, 
always put on a grand spurt and drove down 
the main street of the village in fine style when 
he came back from the station, which was four 
miles from the village. I could not get out to 
meet the stage now, for at that time I was 
always washing the tea dishes. I was sure 
though that he would come home, if not now. 


76 MORE OF JANE’S METHODS. 

at least at the end of the month of probation. 
I could not bear, for an instant even, to imagine 
anything else, for what would become of me if 
he did not come home — he, my only hope ? 

I had timidly suggested to Jane that she 
should teach me her work, and she instantly 
caught at the idea as the first word of sense 
she had ever heard from my lips. So I went 
no more to school, and from that day I became 
the veriest little household drudge. N o sooner, 
however, were the tea things all put away 
than I would manage to go out on some pre- 
tence or other, and fly to the post-office, only 
to meet, as I have said, with disappointment. 
Then I would return home, and stealing up to 
bed, cry myself to sleep night after night. 
Poor, lonely, little child ! 

It was the night before the month of proba- 
tion was over that I burst into the kitchen in 
as wild a state of excitement as of old, waving 
an envelope over my head, and crying out : 

“ Here it is, here it is at last ! Eugene is 
coming home ! Eugene is coming home ! I 
told you so ! ” 

Jane looked at me, compressing her lips in 
silent displeasure, and father, glancing up from 
his paper, said *. 


MORE OF JANE'S METHODS. 


77 


** Why, Louisa, I thought you were growing 
quite a woman. What a noisy child ! ” 

He took the letter, and, as the manner of 
some is, examined the post-mark and seal be- 
fore opening, while I waited quietly under the 
fear of Jane's eye, but in an agony of impa- 
tience. 

‘‘ Sure enough," said father at last, as he 
adjusted his glasses and looked over them at 
me. " It is from the lad, after all." He was 
a long time feeling in his pocket for his knife. 
When he had taken it out he very deliberately 
opened it, carefully cut open the end of 
the envelope, and drawing out the letter, he 
read it through in silence. Then folding it 
up, he said in a tone of disappointment : " It 
is as I thought. He is his own mother's boy, 
and takes to papacy as ducks do to water. He 
has left us, and chooses to stay there." 

" No, no, no ! " I cried. " It can't be true. 
Eugene would never — Oh, let me see the 
letter, father ! " 

Father silently handed me the letter and 
then buried himself in his paper once more. 
He was deeply disappointed no doubt, but 
would on no account let us see this. The let- 
ter seems to me, even to-day, rather stiff, but 


78 


MORE OF JANE'S METHODS. 


I can understand better that it was written un- 
der the consciousness that we should have no 
sympathy with him. With many natures the 
very shrinking that they feel from giving pain 
makes them more stiff and cold than they 
would be at other times. 

Eugene simply said that he had decided to 
remain, and that he hoped that father would 
reconsider his decision and allow him to come 
home for the vacations, but of course all that 
must be left in father's hands. “ Tell my lit- 
tle Squirrel," he added at the last, " that I 
think of her every hour of the day, and that 
she must not forget me. What would I give 
to see her little red jacket fly into the midst of 
one of our ball games and to hear her merry 
cry, ‘ My first in ! ' " There were messages, 
too, for Jane and Barney, and then the letter 
was simply signed Eugene. 

I was simply benumbed with the greatness of 
my disappointment and despair. My only 
hope of rescue from the terrible life I was lead- 
ing now was cut off. There was no escape. 
Mother was no less lost to me than Eugene. 
I stood stupidly gazing at the letter, unable to 
move or even to breathe for the oppression 
which seemed crushing and suffocating me. 


MORE OF JANE'S METHODS. 


79 


All at once my eye fell on the signature. I 
gave a shrill scream, which gave them all a 
start. 

Fer the land's sake, what ails the child ? 
Has she gone crazy ? " asked Jane, catching me 
by the arm as if I were not safe, while father 
and Barney stared at me in consternation. 

The snake, the snake ! ” I screamed. ‘‘He 
wants to come home, and they won’t let him 
write. Don’t you remember, Barney ? Don’t 
you remember, Jane, how Barney drew it in 
the ashes that last night, and we agreed on the 
signal ? ” 

“ To be sure, so we did,” said Barney, his 
face brightening at the remembrance. 

‘‘ Here, let me see ! ” said Jane with a snap, 
brightening her glasses on her apron, and put- 
ting them on. ‘‘ Nonsense, child, he always 
writes his name that way.” 

Father heard the explanation in silence, and 
then took the letter again, peering at the sig- 
nature through his glasses. There was a slight 
flourish at the end of the e shaped something 
like an s. 

My heart grew sick as I watched his face ; 
there was no softening. He threw the letter 
into the open fire after he had finished his 


MORE OF JANE'S METHODS. 

inspection, and turning on his heel said : “ Eu- 
gene has chosen for himself. He has made his 
bed, let him lie in it.” Then he walked off to 
his den, closing the door behind him and shut- 
ting me out. 

He had shut me out ! I felt when he did 
so that he, the only one left of all that had 
made life beautiful to me, had closed the light 
from my life forever. 

The lump which had risen in my throat grew 
so large as to cause an intolerable pain ; the 
sense of suffocation became unbearable. I 
remember beating my hands wildly together 
and throwing myself on the floor, where I 
screamed as loudly as I could. No doubt it 
seemed to Jane an exhibition of bad temper, 
but whatever it was, it was quite beyond my 
control, and if I had known that I should have 
been killed for it, I must have done the same. 

Jane’s cure was severe, but effectual. She 
lifted me in her strong arms while I was still 
struggling, screaming, and striking at her, 
quite beside myself for the time, and carrying 
me across the room, she suddenly dipped me 
head first into the cistern of ice-cold spring 
water, which was constantly running in the cor- 
ner of our kitchen. 


MORE OF JANE'S METHODS. 8i 

“ Have you had enough of it ? she said, as 
she drew me gasping and choking from the 
water. I made no sign, as, indeed, I was 
quite unable to. Trembling and shaking from 
head to foot, I clung to her, trying to beg for 
mercy, but I could not from the choking con- 
vulsions in my throat. 

“ More, then, is it?” she added, and down 
I went again with both head and arms com- 
pletely under. Barney stood by. The old 
man was begging and expostulating, and I 
think that even Jane herself was frightened at 
the result, for she asked for no more submis- 
sion, but bore me wet and dripping to my 
room, and after a vigorous rubbing and slap- 
ping she rolled me in a heavy blanket, far more 
completely silent and submissive than she could 
wish. She then left me, but soon returned 
with a drink of hot liquor, which I was all too 
willing to take, and very soon I was lost in un- 
consciousness. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


A FLIGHT. 

I MUST have slept soundly for the greater 
part of the night, for when I woke next I heard 
the great town clock, which is in the church 
just above us on the village street, slowly toll- 
ing out the hour of four. I had wakened with 
a great start of fear from a fearful dream, and 
found myself struggling with all my might to 
get free from the heavy woollen blankets in 
which I was wrapped. 

I had dreamed that I was in the grounds of 
the college to which Eugene had gone, and I 
saw before me a grassy mound, in one side 
of which was built a massive iron door, as 
is the way of the tombs in our cemetery. I 
seemed to know by intuition that my dear 
brother was shut up a prisoner in this dungeon, 
doomed to a living death. 

I dreamed that there were a group of school- 
boys standing near looking curiously at the 
82 


A FLIGHT. 


83 


door, and seeming to discuss the matter quite 
indifferently and without stirring to release my 
poor Eugene. I tried to fly to his assistance, 
but my feet seemed like lead, and all my 
strength had left me. I beat and pulled on 
the massive door in vain ; it would not give 
way in the least. Then I turned to the lads 
and entreated their help. They discussed the 
matter a little longer, and then one of them 
ran off for the key. Here I awoke with a start, 
only to the consciousness of additional misery. 

The dream had come from Eugene I was 
sure. Those bad men had locked up my dear 
brother, as Barney had said they would. He 
had sent us the promised signal, and now no 
one would go to his help. Oh, what should 
I do ! 

I reflected that the stage would leave for the 
railway station in about an hour. “ I will 
come to you, dear. Your little sister shall save 
you if no one else cares enough for you,” said 
I aloud. Slipping out of my warm bed, I 
began to dress myself, trembling with excite- 
ment and cold. 

I could not fasten my dress behind without 
assistance, but I covered that deficiency by 
putting over it the same red jacket that Eugene 


84 


A FLIGHT, 


liked. I could not find my button-hook, but 
fearing to be caught if I delayed longer, I 
seized my hat, my little tin bank and shoes, 
and ran downstairs in my stocking feet. As 
I ran through the kitchen I stumbled over a 
chair in the half light, and I made a great noise 
in drawing back the bolt of the kitchen outer 
door, but to my relief no one seemed to hear 
me. 

I dared not stop to put on my shoes lest I 
should be recaptured. Leaving the door wide 
open behind me, I sped off down the muddy 
streets in my stocking feet. There was a 
dense fog, and a chill that seemed to strike to 
my very heart and freeze me through and 
through. I paid no attention to this discom- 
fort, however, but ran down the street to the 
hotel from which the stage started. 

To my delight I saw it standing in front of 
the hotel door, while Jonathan Fairbrother, 
the driver, was eating his breakfast. He was 
a good-natured man, and many a ride had he 
given Eugene and me on the top of his coach. 

I greatly feared, however, in the present in- 
stance that should he find me half dressed in 
this way he would suspect that I had run away, 
and take me back again to Jane for yet further 


A FLIGHT. 


85 


punishment. I made haste, therefore, to 
climb hastily, like the squirrel that I was, to 
the top of the coach, with my boots still in my 
hands. 

There was no one in sight. Every one going 
to the station this morning was intent on his 
breakfast. The horses were carelessly fastened 
by twining their reins a couple of times round 
a pillar of the hotel porch, and were too much 
dispirited at having to turn out in the cold fog 
to think of running away, like me. So with 
great satisfaction I seated myself on the roof 
of the coach, and with much difficulty thrust 
my little wet feet into my boots. 

‘‘ I can’t button them, but it’s no matter,” 
soliloquized I, pulling the buffalo over them so 
Mr. Fairbrother should not see them. ” Now 
we’ll see if there is money enough.” I shook 
my bank vigorously into my lap, and a great 
many pennies came out reluctantly. The bank 
seemed so heavy that I had flattered myself 
that it contained a little fortune. I had been 
saving my money a long time, intending to buy 
Eugene some new skates at Christmas. ” He 
will not want them now,” said I to myself, 
swallowing a great gulp, ” and anyway I must 
save him.” 


/ 


S6 


A FLIGHT. 


I turned and hid the bank behind the cush- 
ions on the driver’s seat. The sun was now 
up sufficiently to enable me to count my 
wealth. There were some five cent pieces 
among the pennies, and one ten cent. Alas, 
when it was all counted it was only sixty-four 
cents ! 

The sun now showed itself over the eastern 
hill, and shone feebly through the fog on my 
shivering little form as Jonathan Fairbrother 
and his passengers came pouring out of the 
hotel door. I hastily gathered up my treasure 
and tied it securely in the corner of my hand- 
kerchief and stuffed it into my sack pocket. 

Good morning, Jonathan Fairbrother ! ” I 
called out as he appeared. “ I am going to 
the station with you this morning.” 

I declare to gracious,” said he amazed, 
” ef that ain’t Lou Trudelle, large as life an’ 
twice as natteral. ” 

I slid down on the seat with him as he 
climbed up, and covered over my forlorn ap- 
pearance as much as possible with his buffalo 
robe. 

” Where be yer goin’ to-day?” said he, as 
he gathered up his reins preparatory to a start. 

I am going to see my brother Eugene,” 


A FLIGHT. 


87 


said I proudly. “ How much will you charge 
me, Jonathan Fairbrother, for carrying me to 
the station ? ” 

The sun was now fast gaining the mastery 
over the fog, and shone brightly across the 
road and over the heads of the horses. They 
recognized the hand of their master, and, lift- 
ing up their drooping heads, they started up 
the street in fine style. 

“ I don’t calc’late to charge yer much more 
than double price,” said he, looking down on me 
gravely, ” unless yer break down the coach, an’ 
then, o’ course, yer must pay the damages.” 

” I’ve only got sixty-four cents,” said I anx- 
iously. ” Do you think that will take me to 
Eugene ? ” displaying the little bulging pocket 
of my sack as I spoke. 

” I reckon so,” said Jonathan, scrutinizing 
me rather closely. ” Are yer goin’ all by 
yer lone self, as yer used to say ? ” 

We were now going by our door, and I gazed 
anxiously across to see if there were any signs 
of pursuit. Jonathan’s eyes followed mine, 
and noticed the open door. 

” Never knew yer folks to leave yer side 
door open so airly in the mornin’ afore,” said 
he suspiciously. 


88 


A FLIGHT. 


‘‘ I left it open,” said I, hanging my head 
with a red face. 

” Don’t say ! ” looking at me yet more 
closely. “ Why, child, yer fairly shakin’ with 
the cold ! Get down here under the buffalo. 
Did yer hev yer breakfast afore yer started ? ” 
Then as he caught sight of my feet, he added : 
” Why, yer ain’t half dressed. What wuz 
Jane thinkin’ about to let yer come off in 
this style ? ” 

We had now left the village street and were 
going down a steep hill, at the foot of which 
was a covered bridge. The horses were now 
going at great speed, and I felt safe. I knew 
that Jonathan would have to get his passengers 
over the distance between us and the station 
before the train left, so as the horses rattled 
over the bridge and began to climb the hill be- 
yond the hollow I resolved to make a clean 
breast of it. 

” Nobody knew that I came, Jonathan,” 
said I, hiding my face with a burst of tears 
against his sleeve, ” but Jane whips me all the 
time and ducks me in the cistern, and I can’t 
bear it. I am going to get Eugene away from 
those wicked men, and then we will go away 
somewhere and live together.” 


A FLIGHT. 


89 


Jonathan was struck dumb with amazement* 
He looked at me again, cleared his throat very 
loud, spat at the side of the road, and then 
shouted at his horses as if he were very angry 
with them, though they were doing their best, 
poor things. I ventured at last to lift my 
head, and said piteously : 

“ You will help me, won’t you ? ” 

“ Lord save us ! ” said he, in a tone that 
made it sound like an oath. “ O’ course I 
will. Miss Lou ; leastways in any way that’s 
possible. Yer may be sure of that for the 
sake o’ Miss Trudelle. She wuz a good woman, 
she wuz. I never seen no one but what thought 
most o’ number one but her, but she never 
did that I could see.” 

” I suppose you knew her a long time, didn’t 
you, Jonathan?” said I, leaning forward and 
peering into his face. 

” Long afore she wuz sich a dum fool as to 
go an’ git merried,” said he. ” Now, Miss 
Lou, I hadn’t ought to say that, but she wuz 
a lovely girl, an’ no mistake.” 

” Did you ever know my uncles?” said I. 
” Mother said I was like ‘ Jacques.’ Did you 
know him ? ” 

” Your uncle? Yes, yes ; of course.” And 


*90 


A FLIGHT. 


then after a little silence, in which he seemed 
to be thinking deeply, he added : “ There 
never wuz a better feller in the province than 
Jacques Gagnon. Generous? He’d give away 
the coat off his back, an’ think nothin’ of it, ef 
he saw a poor feller in trouble. An’ the best 
company ever yer see. Everybody wuz after 
him, an’ makin’ much of him, until ” 

There was a long pause. 

‘‘ Wal, dear, the long and short of it wuz 
that he took too much to drink. Yer see, a lit- 
tle would overcome him ; he couldn’t stan’ 
much at all. He wuz always round at balls 
an’ parties, an’ he couldn’t say no. Your 
father was pleased at first, an’ it helped him 
pretty considerable in his business to hev sech 
a pop’lar pardner, too ; but there, yer know 
yer father, he can’t stan’ disgrace, an’ the 
first time that Jacques got raly drunk, he 
packed him off an’ told him never to show his 
face here agin. 

Jacques, he wuz proud, too, an’ didn’t 
need to be told twice. He wuz off to the city, 
an’ before the year wuz out he wuz brought 
back here in his coffin. It ’most killed yer 
poor mother. She nigh went crazy, an’ wuz 
never the same agin.” Again he cleared his 


A FLIGHT, 


91 


throat and shouted violently at his horses, and 
then went on : 

“ Yer air very like him, fer a fact, child ; 
an’ they say it runs in the Gagnon family. I 
suppose that’s why your father lets Jane be so 
all-fired hard on yer. He’s an awful sot man, 
an’ Jane, she’s another as like him as two 
peas ; but both o’ you children air like your 
mother’s family, an’ there’s the same dangers 
ahead fer yer. I’m af eared. Now, Miss Lou, 
ef I wuz you, I’d try to git along an’ please 
Jane. She’s a powerful smart housekeeper, 
an’ she’ll make one o’ yer, an’ be good to yer 
ef yer don’t cross her. Now try it ; do. Miss 
Lou.” 

” I’ll see,” absently, and then we were both 
silent until we drove up to the little station 
where the passengers were to take the cars for 
their further destination. 

“Yer stay right here,” said he, 'as he got 
off the coach and fastened his reins through an 
iron ring in the platform of the station, “ an’ 
I’ll be back in a jiffy ; then we’ll go up to the 
tarvern an’ git some breakfast. I’ll take 
yer back an’ arrange that Jane shan’t lick yer, 
nuther.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


LOST. 

I LISTENED to Jonathan’s advice in silence, 
but was none the less determined to carry out 
my own plan. If I must submit to Jane’s 
training and return to the hateful prison our 
home had now become to me, I must ; but I 
would not give up without one more trial for 
liberty. And above all, I would die, if neces- 
sary, to release my dear brother from the hands 
of those Jesuits. 

Jonathan Fairbrother had disappeared round 
the other side of the station, and I looked 
about me to see how I could best circumvent 
the enemy and prevent him from carrying me 
back again. 

A stout, middle-aged woman, with an im- 
mense pasteboard bandbox covered with a 
calico bag, was hurriedly approaching the 
station. I watched her idly as I considered 
the best way of carrying out my plans. 

92 


LOST. 


93 


“ Thanks be to God ! '' she exclaimed, as 
she panted up the steps. “ I was afraid of 
my life I was too late. There’s the train now.” 

A faint whistle was heard in the distance as 
she vanished through the door of the building. 
Glancing hastily around to see if there were 
any signs of Jonathan, I descended from the 
stage and followed her inside the building. 
She quite filled the narrow passage in front 
of the ticket-room window, through which it 
was necessary to pass in order to get to the 
train, and she was haggling noisily with the 
ticket-agent over the price of her ticket. 

” I tell you, young man,” she was saying, 
” I got a mileage, though I’ve mislaid it some- 
where or other, and I don’t pay but two cents 
a mile. ” 

Neither of them noticed me as I entered the 
passage and stood behind the woman, nervously 
fingering my sack pocket for the money. The 
train rolled into the station, and the man threw 
down the woman’s change, slamming the 
window noisily as he did so. 

” As sassy a man as ever I seen,” said the 
woman, hastily gathering up her change and 
starting for the train after taking up her huge 
bandbox. She was followed closely by me. 


94 


LOST. 


too small to attract attention. I looked guilt- 
ily round to see if there were any signs of 
Jonathan Fairbrother. We stood on the plat- 
form of the cars as they were moving out of 
the station, and I saw him politely escorting a 
new arrival on the same train to his coach. 
I thought with satisfaction that he could not 
stop me now, although he would probably tell 
my father where I had gone when he went 
back to Tiononti. 

The car was quite full, and the stout woman, 
after surveying the situation, made her way to 
the only empty seat near the door. She first 
carefully crowded the big bandbox down on 
the floor near the window, and was about to 
seat herself with a sigh of relief when I touched 
her elbow, saying : 

“ Please, may I go with you ? ” 

“For the land’s sake, child, who do you 
belong to?’’ said she in a tone of astonish- 
ment, looking round to see for herself the an- 
swer to her question. 

I am alone,’’ said I, “ and I am going up 
to the college to see my brother. I didn’t 
have time to buy my ticket, for the man shut 
the window too quick.’’ 

So you haven’t paid for your ticket ? ’’ 


LOST, 


95 


“ No.” 

She surveyed me again from head to foot^ 
and then suddenly lifted me into the seat near 
the window, with my feet resting on the band* 
box. Then she took her own seat on the out* 
side, and taking a hairpin out of her hair, she 
buttoned my boots, fastened my dress, and 
generally renovated my toilet to her own and 
my great satisfaction. 

Thank you,” said I, when she had fin* 
ished ; ” you are very kind.” 

” You’ve run away,” said she to me severely. 
” Don’t tell me — I hate lies.” 

I hung my head in silence. 

” If I could, I would send you back again 
directly, but as I can’t, you may go with me 
on my ticket. I won’t be cheated, and Tm 
bound to come up with the railroad company 
in some way, and this is as good as any.” 

Having thus settled matters in her own mind 
that she would in this way get justice from the 
management of the road, she settled herself 
back in her seat with a positive little jump,, 
and looked defiantly at the door of the car, 
through which the conductor was just enter* 
ing. I gazed at her face with some fear and 
awe, but felt immensely relieved to have the 


/ 


96 


LOST, 


question of the low state of my finances thus 
made easy for me. 

The conductor was a quiet, peaceable, sober- 
looking man, who took her ticket without look- 
ing at her, and then held out his hand for mine. 

“ The child is travelling with me,’' said my 
companion, with pursed-up lips and a toss of 
her head. 

“ Half ticket for the child, marm,” said the 
conductor, still absently. 

“ Thank you, sir ! Perhaps you railroaders 
think you can order a poor woman about as 
you please, and cheat her out of her last cent ! ” 

Here, becoming alarmed at the prospect, I 
pulled out my parcel of pennies and com- 
menced with : “ I’ve got ” 

“You naughty, bold child ! ’’ said she ; “ if 
you don’t put back that dirty handkerchief of 
yours this minute I’ll throw you out of the 
window.’’ She gave me a little shake, and 
made a dab at my handkerchief, thereby cover- 
ing up the change ; then she turned again to 
the conductor, folded her arms, and looked at 
him defiantly. 

With a shrug of his shoulders and a smile, 
which only served to increase the wrath of my 
new friend, the conductor passed on, and she 


LOST, 


97 


remarked, in a loud and indignant tone : “ That 
perhaps those great, bloated corporations 
thought that they could have their own way, 
and cheat the very eye-teeth out of people, 
but when they tried it on Betsy Rogers, they’d 
find themselves mightily mistaken in their 
reckoning. ” 

I was greatly humiliated at this scene, and 
my head drooped to conceal the tears that I 
could not repress. Then my feet were sud- 
denly twitched off the bandbox, and after a 
long struggle with the knots and cover, she 
pulled a large cake of maple-sugar from the 
depths, and putting it into my hand with a 

Here, child, eat this,” she proceeded to tie it 
all up very tight again. After this she fell into a 
discussion with a woman in front of her on the 
sins of the railroad, and paid no more attention 
to me until we had reached our destination. 

I was really hungry and glad enough to get 
the sugar, but my appearance was in no way 
improved by the sticky substance. It was very 
hard, and I was forced to gnaw at it like my 
namesake, the squirrel. 

When we arrived at the college town to 
which we were both going, she seized the 
bandbox and myself, and pushing us both on 


98 


LOST. 


before her, passed out of the cars. She was 
met at the station by a meek-looking little 
man, who received the story of her encoun- 
ter with the railroad officials with resignation, 
and then deposited her bandbox and her- 
self in an open farm wagon, while I stood 
rather doubtfully gazing at them, wondering 
what I should do next. 

“ There, child,” said she, gazing down on 
me condescendingly, ” run along to find your 
brother. Follow right up the main street there 
to the college. Any one will tell you where it is, 
and no doubt they will look after you now.” 

I obeyed, going slowly down the steps of 
the station, wishing that my defender would 
help me to attack the college officials as she 
had done the conductor, but it was too late to 
think of that now she had gone, and I must do 
the best I could by myself. I followed up the 
street she had pointed out, looking back over 
my shoulder after her as I went. I felt very 
unwilling to leave her. She was a certainty, 
and I was going to an uncertainty, feeling 
much less warlike towards those mysterious foes 
as I drew nearer the college. 

I shall know that tomb when I see it, I 
thought, and I will demand the key to open 


LOST, 


99 


the door and let out my poor Eugene, and 
they will say : “ Your brother is not here, Miss 
Trudelle,” or perhaps that “he is dead,” and 
then I will say : “ It has been revealed to me 
in a dream, and if you do not give me the key 
at once I shall appeal to the governor.” Then 
they will be afraid and let out poor Eugene, 
and we will go home together. He would 
make father understand how wicked Jane was, 
and then father would send her away, and we 
would all live happy together ever afterwards. 

At the thought of this I began to cry, half 
with happiness and half with loneliness and 
nervousness at the fear of meeting my foes, and 
between the tears, maple-sugar, and dust, I was 
in a great state of dirt and stickiness when I 
reached the iron gates which led into the college. 

I cautiously peeped into the grounds through 
the bars of the gates, and saw before me a 
long range of gray stone buildings in the dis- 
tance on a rising ground. An immense lawn 
stretched down before it to the road where I 
stood, studded here and there with noble elms, 
and other groups of trees and shrubbery. On 
the right there was a game of baseball going on, 
and little by little I stole through the gate and 
crept towards it. I put off my bold purpose of 


lOO 


LOST. 


facing the foe for a time while I watched the 
game of ball. 

Sheltered by the friendly trunk of a large 
elm, I eagerly scanned the faces of the players. 
Then I gave a great start, for there was my 
Eugene standing, flushed and handsome, bat 
in hand, waiting for the ball. So he wasn’t 
shut up, and father and Jane were right, after 
all. With a sense of disappointment mingling 
with my delight, and forgetting all my shyness, 
I left my shelter, and bounding into the midst 
of the game I shouted, “ My first in !” and 
then threw my arms ecstatically round my 
brother’s neck, covering his face with my 
sticky kisses. 

There had been much shouting and laughing 
before my sudden advent, but now a dead 
silence fell on the crowd. The ball game was 
instantly broken up, and the boys came clus- 
tering round us. There was no response from 
Eugene ; his arms fell limply at his side, and 
looking up, I saw his red, sheepish face, and 
realized with a breaking heart that my brother 
was ashamed of me. I stepped back and gazed 
at him in reproachful silence. Just then I 
heard a cheerful voice exclaim : 

“ Why, here is the Squirrel come to see us ! 


LOST, 


lOI 


Welcome to Windsor, my dear child. Come, 
Trudelle, we must take her up to Mary to get 
some tea ; she must be tired enough after her 
journey. The boys will release you. There 
isn’t one among them that would not gladly 
give up a ball game to see his sister. One’s 
sister does not come every day, you know.” 

It was Father Ursel, who had recognized me, 
and had taken in the situation so as to cover 
poor Eugene’s embarrassment. Taking me 
by the hand, he led the way to the house, 
Eugene still silent and looking up gratefully 
into the Father’s face ; and I — my poor heart 
far more lonely and downcast than it had been 
before in all my troubles — allowed them to 
lead me where they would ; but I said not one 
word of my troubles to Eugene, and not once 
suggested his coming home. 

Poor me ! Poor little girl ! I pity myself 
now as I look back. Father Ursel, however, 
was kindness itself. Telegraphing first, and 
then taking me back on an evening train him- 
self, he managed with infinite tact and kindness 
to avert the deserved retribution waiting me 
there, and even was Jane loud in his praises 
when he departed — leaving me with no escape 
from the dreary life which lay before me. 


CHAPTER X. 


PERSONS AND EVENTS. 

- Jonathan Fairbrother proved a true 
prophet when he said that under Jane's man- 
agement I should improve. In the course of 
the next five years I became, so they all said, 
a neat and tidy housekeeper, as well as a 
bright, self-reliant girl, and also the acknowl- 
edged leader of the young people of Tiononti. 

This sounds conceited, but it was the truth. 
I would not have said it at that time on any 
account, but since then I have learned a great 
horror of all concealment, and believe in tell- 
ing things exactly as they are, without mock 
humility. 

But nevertheless, though I had gained much 
in the good things of this world, and was even 
then thankful that I had received stricter dis- 
cipline than I should have had with my poor 
mother, I had not gained in soul growth. I 
had learned to plan and to deceive in order to 


102 


PERSONS AND EVENTS. 


103 


get my own way, and self-will was as strong in 
my heart as on the day that I ran away to the 
college. But I had learned to bow down to 
the god of Tiononti — human respect. 

Yes ; what will people think ? what will they 
say ? was the law that governed our house- 
hold. It had proved a veritable tyrant, and a 
cruel law to my poor mother and Uncle 
Jacques, and it was to prove a still greater 
tyrant in my life, as you will see. 

Eugene had never once come home during 
these years, and if he wrote, I never knew it. 
Father had given orders that he only should 
go for our mail, and enforced them by procur- 
ing a lock-box, the key of which he kept. 

Two years before a large hotel, a summer 
resort, had been built on the Shippegan Moun- 
tain, not far from our house. It was thronged 
with visitors through the summer, and very 
gay times they had. We simple country folk 
did not mix very much with them, but we 
would frequently meet them driving along 
the country roads, making the air ring with 
their gay songs and merry laughter. Some- 
times we would go up to the hotel in the even- 
ing and peep through the windows and doors 
at the dancers. 


104 


PERSONS AND EVENTS. 


Ah, me, how I envied these people, with 
their looks and ways so different from ours ! 
It seemed to me that they belonged to another 
world, where there was no trouble and no 
anger, hatred, or ill-will, but only merrymaking 
and joyousness all the day long. Father would 
never have allowed me to go up there if he had 
known it, and he never heard any reference 
made to the hotel or its guests but what he 
replied to it with expressions of bitter scorn. 

It was shortly after my fifteenth birthday, in 
May. Jane and I had just sat down to our 
sewing in the afternoon, when we heard a quick 
step coming up the walk from our side gate, 
and before we could rise a man appeared at 
the kitchen door and looked in at us with a 
smile. I saw at once from his dress and gen- 
eral appearance that he was one of those en- 
viable people from the city, and gazed at him 
with silent awe, waiting for Jane to speak. She 
was measuring off the breadths of a light muslin, 
my birthday gift from father and Sunday dress 
for the summer, and apparently had not heard 
the step, nor did she look until I touched her 
on the shoulder. She gave a start and jumped 
up, pushing her glasses well up on her forehead, 
that she might see who the visitor was. 


PERSONS AND EVENTS. J05 

For the land’s sake, Roswell Gagnon ! 
Where did you fall from ? Why, Louisa, it’s 
your Uncle Roswell. Walk right in and sit 
down. The child don’t remember you, and no 
wonder, for she was only a baby, one might 
say, when you was here last.” 

He had a round, pleasant face, with 
large gray eyes and side whiskers, and an 
easy, self-possessed way, with a sufficient 
likeness to mother to bring the tears to my 
eyes. 

So this is really my little Lou,” said he, 
stepping forward at the sight of my emotion 
and kissing me on the cheek ; ” I should never 
have known her.” 

” Hain’t she grown ? ” said Jane admiringly. 
” Indeed, Mr. Roswell, we felt it hard that 
you did not come before.” 

” I did intend coming as soon as I heard of 
my poor sister’s death, but was prevented by 
business, and then I put it off, from time to 
time, until our little girl has stolen a march on 
me and grown into a young lady.” 

I was immensely flattered to hear myself 
called a young lady, and felt my face grow 
scarlet under his admiring gaze. Jane nodded 
her approval and responded with : 


io6 PERSONS AND EVENTS. 

“ Well enough, and a sight better than she 
made any promise of bein' when you were 
here last. But there ; sit down while I go up 
and get your room ready ; do.” 

” No, no ; sit still. I am not going to 
trouble you this time, Jane. I am up on the 
mountain with a friend of mine.” 

” Don’t say?” said Jane in a relieved tone. 
” Be you really up there? Squire Trudelle 
will take it hard to have you at the hotel in- 
stead of here, where you belong.” 

” I have friends there with whom I have en- 
gaged to spend a vacation, and I must make 
my visit here another time.” 

There was a little hard look about his lips, 
and I knew that my mother’s brother felt the 
same antagonism towards father that father 
himself did to all the Gagnon family, and 
that he would never accept the hospitality 
of our house. All the time, however, he was 
talking to Jane he was looking so intently at 
me, that I was glad to turn my head and 
bury my face in my work to avoid showing 
my embarrassment. When Jane left the room 
to bring in some refreshments, he turned to 
me and said in a low tone : “I have seen 
Eugene.” 


PERSONS AND EVENTS, 107 

Oh,” cried I, forgetting my shyness, ” I 
am so glad ! Tell me all about him.” 

He is doing well and carrying off all the 
honors of his school. He wishes to see you 
very much.” 

Father will not allow it,” said I, dropping 
my head once more and struggling to keep 
back the tears. 

“ Are you happy here without your mother, 
dear?” 

I clasped my hands and looked at him as 
earnestly as he had been looking at me, and 
replied : 

” I — I am sure I don’t know. Tell me, Un- 
cle Roswell, is any one really ever happy ? ” 

He laughed and said : ” Perhaps not, but I 
do not like to know that any one as young as 
you have found that out. I would like to give 
my sister’s child one happy summer. I want 
you up on the mountain for a vacation, and we 
will manage one there for Eugene, too, I 
think. ” 

” O Uncle Roswell ! ” cried I, ecstatically 
clapping my hands ; ” but father would never 
allow it, I am sure.” 

” That’s right ; that’s the way I like to see a 
young face — shining as yours does now.” 


io8 


PERSONS AND EVENTS. 


Here Jane, coming in with a loaded tray, 
interrupted our talk by saying: “You must 
not go off without somethin’ to stay you, Mr. 
Roswell. Squire Trudelle he’s off for the day ; 
but there, you’ll see him ef you’re goin’ to 
stay here as long as you calc’late to do.” 

“ I shall be here off and on through the sum- 
mer,” said my uncle, helping himself plenti- 
fully to the cake and wine. ” By the way, 
there’s a lady friend of mine, an artist, up at 
the Mountain House, and she wants to hire a 
girl who would come and stay there with her 
for the summer. She wants her as a compan- 
ion as she goes about sketching, and to help 
her in her painting by cleaning her brushes and 
arranging her colors and so on. She will be 
good to her, pay her well, and give her some 
chance to learn art, if she has a taste that 
way. Can you recommend any one whom 
you know well ? She is rather particular, you 
know. ” 

Jane looked at me meditatively, and I 
dropped my eyes, lest she should see how 
much I wanted to go and prevent it. 

“ Wal, here’s Louisa,” she said at last, rather 
hesitatingly ; “ her father has been kinder calc’- 
latin’ to put her in the mill this cornin’ fall, 


PERSONS AND EVENTS. 109 

but I don’t know ef he’ll approve of the tar- 
vern.” 

This will be a much safer place than the 
mill,” said my uncle, with a grimace of disgust. 

What’ll the lady be willin’ to give ? ” said 
Jane. 

What would you think right ? ” 

I calc’late she’d earn at least six dollars a 
week in the mill,” said Jane, ” but then she’d 
have to pay her board. Now ef the lady has 
to pay her board, an’ the squire will let her 
go, I should reckon her work worth three dol- 
lars a week at the least. You know she’ll have 
to have better clothes than she’d have at 
home.” 

I am sure that Mrs. Lovell will agree to 
those terms,” said my uncle, giving me an 
amused glance. So at last it was finally ar- 
ranged that Uncle Roswell should come back 
that evening and see father, and, if he could 
gain his consent, take me up and introduce me 
to my new patroness. Then he went off, leav- 
ing me in the highest state of excitement and 
delight. I kept this well under control, how- 
ever, for I knew, alas ! that it all depended on 
Jane, and that if she saw that my heart was 
set upon going she was likely to prevent it. 


no 


PERSONS AND EVENTS. 


The arrangements were soon made, in spite 
of a feeble opposition on father’s part. Jane 
declared it was too good a chance to be lost, 
and that it was quite time that I should be 
doing something for myself, if I ever was 
going to. 

Behold me then, at eight o’clock that even- 
ing, arrayed in my best white pique, very stiff 
with starch, and hat of the same material, not 
a bit of color about me but a scarlet crocheted 
shawl, which, with my usual proclivity to color, 
I had knit in the long winter evenings, and had 
now thrown over my shoulders, once more 
climbing the side of old Shippegan, leaning 
upon my uncle’s arm. 


CHAPTER XL 


MRS. LOVELL. 

When my uncle and I reached the hotel 
that night we found it more silent than usual. 
There was no dancing going on, and but few 
people in the brilliantly lighted parlors and 
hall. We passed up the staircase, and then I 
saw that all the life of the place was congre- 
gated on the second floor that night. The 
broad hall, the steps leading out on the 
veranda and the veranda itself were filled with 
people in full evening dress, all laughing and 
talking. There were a few card-tables for the 
elderly ones, but nearly every one was engaged 
in conversation. I could also hear singing 
with a piano accompaniment from a distant 
room, into which I could not see. 

Uncle Roswell carried me along the hall, and 
at last opened the door of a small room and led 
me in. The gas here was turned low. It was 
dimly lighted and empty, but a door led from it 

III 


1 12 


MRS. LOVELL. 


into a larger room, which was a blaze of light 
and filled to overflowing with guests. On a 
platform about a foot higher than the rest 
sat a lady in an arm-chair, who seemed to be 
the centre of attraction. It would be hard 
to tell her age. Her hair was snow-white, and 
drawn up plainly in a braid which crowned the 
most shapely head and neck I had ever seen, 
while the bright black eyes and the unwrinkled, 
delicate pink and white skin pronounced her 
hair prematurely white. 

She was dressed in a delicate lavender mate- 
rial of heavy corded silk, and wore white lace 
fastened with pale pink ribbons at her throat, 
wrists, and head to relieve the extreme sim- 
plicity of her costume. She seemed to me, as 
I gazed at her through the opened door of the 
darkened room, the very ideal of refinement. 

Uncle Roswell left me and went in, when 
he was greeted with a welcome which pro- 
claimed him a general favorite. After he had 
responded to the greetings he went to the 
lady’s side and began talking to her in low 
tones, while I looked about me. 

I was evidently in a studio. There was a 
large easel near the window with a canvas on 
it ; leaning against it was a portfolio, partly 


MJ^S. LOVELL, 


113 

Open and well filled. On the other side of the 
easel was a pottery jar filled with brushes. A 
table under the window was filled with bits of 
china and painting materials. There were two 
more doors leading from this room, which were 
partly concealed by portieres. I could not see 
very well on account of the dim light, and 
while I was gazing round the lady entered the 
room with my uncle. 

This is my niece, Louisa Trudelle, Mrs. 
Lovell,” said he. 

She came forward silently and drew me into 
the light, taking me by both hands. Then she 
removed my hat, and putting her hand under 
my chin, lifted my head and gazed into my 
face earnestly. She seemed pleased, for she 
smiled with a wondrously beautiful smile, 
saying : 

” So we are to be comrades ? ” 

” Oh, I do hope so ! ” cried I earnestly, al- 
ready won by her charms. 

” Louisa Trudelle ! that is too long to say,” 
said she, with a low musical laugh. ” Are you 
true ? ” 

I did not answer, but felt my color rising 
under her penetrating gaze. 

” I am sure you are,” said she, releasing me. 


4 


MRS. LOVELL. 


‘‘ and so I shall call you ‘ true/ if you will per- 
mit me to do so.” 

” Anything you wish, I am sure, madam,” 
said I, with a blushing face. 

She glanced at my uncle and laughed a lit- 
tle, and then said : ” When will you come, 
then, to-night ? ” 

” I will bring her up in the morning,” said 
my uncle, speaking for me. “You are too 
much engaged to-night.” 

” To-morrow let it be, then,” said she lightly, 
and then more earnestly to me : “We will 
have grand times this summer, little True. 
Do you like to paint ? ” 

“ I have never tried,” said I shyly, but oh, 
I should like to above all things.” 

“You have the artistic temperament — any 
one can see that. Come, then, to-morrow, 
and we will see what we can do,” said she, 
lifting my chin once more and kissing my 
cheek lightly. Then she replaced my hat and 
said to my uncle : “ Don’t be gone long,” 
nodded good-night, and went back to her 
guests. 

I drew a long sigh as she disappeared and 
exclaimed : “ Isn’t she just lovely ? ” 

Uncle Roswell laughed a little, but seemed 


MRS. LOVELL. 


pleased at my admiration, and again we went 
down the side of the mountain to the little 
farm at the foot. On our way down he told 
me more about this lady. She was a great 
artist, and held her Tuesday evening recep- 
tions at the hotel that summer, and that be- 
sides these Tuesday evenings, where nearly 
everybody was made welcome, for she de- 
pended on the patronage of the wealthy to dis- 
pose of her painting, she also held private re- 
ceptions on Saturday evenings for a few of her 
most intimate friends, and that it was consid- 
ered a very great privilege to gain admittance 
to those gatherings. 

“ Mrs. Lovell has a famous chafing-dish 
which appears on these occasions, and,” added 
my uncle, with an unpleasant little laugh, ” she 
has evidently found out that the way to a 
man’s heart is through his stomach.” 

” Oh, but it isn’t ! ” exclaimed I with dis- 
gust. 

” Not through yours, little True, I’ll be 
bound ; but they say our family are altogether 
too fond of the good things of this life, so take 
warning. ” 

I was silent, pondering over this new idea, 
which 1 did not like at all. When we reached 


MRS. LOVELL. 


1 16 

our gate Uncle Roswell said he would not 
come in, but would be down after me early the 
next morning. 

With a light heart I ran into our kitchen, 
singing gayly as I went, but when I opened 
the door my song was suddenly stopped. 
I felt I was in another atmosphere, where 
a light heart was out of place, and where 
my song would probably give displeasure. So 
it did. 

“ I was alius brought up to consider it bad 
manners to sing before I was asked,” said Jane 
by the way of greeting. 

I had long ago learned that the best answer 
to such greeting was silence ; there was a 
loneliness in father’s attitude as he sat cower- 
ing over the remnants of the kitchen fire that 
went to my heart. I drew my chair up close 
to his and sat down silently. 

” Wal,” said Jane, ” be you deef and dumb ? 
Why don’t you tell us somethin’ of your new 
sitooation ? Did you like the lady ? ” 

” She seems very kind,” said I quietly, 
” and I hardly know what I am to do. She 
paints, and I believe I am to try to help her in 
some way.” 

“You paint ! ” said Jane with a loud laugh 


MRS. LOVELL. 


117 

that seemed to grate doubly on my nerves to- 
night. “ Paint the barns, I guess.” 

Again I was silent, and Jane, with a sniff 
and a toss of her head, went off to fasten up 
the house, and left me alone with father. 

” Father,” said I rather timidly, ” you have 
always been very good to me, and have had to 
be both father and mother to me for many 
years. Where you are will always be my 
home. I am going out into the world now, 
but my home will always be with you, won’t 
it, father ? ” 

” Yes, daughter, I hope so.” His voice 
was pitched in a high key, but his tone was one 
of extreme depression. I had never seen him 
so despondent, even at mother’s death, and I 
was deeply touched. 

” Father,” said I, ” do not let me go away 
at all. It seems ridiculous to say so, for I am 
sure Jane is over forty years old, but the peo- 
ple in the village say that Jonathan Fair- 
brother comes here to see Jane, and is going 
to marry her, and if she goes away you will 
surely keep me here.” 

” Jane is calculating to bring Fairbrother 
here,” said father, dropping his eyes as if 
ashamed, after a sidelong glance at me to see 


ii8 


MRS. LOVELL. 


how I would take it. “ He will pay his board, 
and it will save a lot of expense." 

There was silence while I revolved this as- 
tonishing news in my brain. My heart grew 
heavy and sad. No one wanted me. I really 
had no home. Yet when I looked again on the 
tall, gaunt, stooping old figure, my heart 
melted with pity, and I determined to make 
one more effort. 

Sitting down on the arm of his chair, I 
slipped my arm round his neck and said : 
" Father dear, do not let me go away. We 
were very happy in the old time with mother 
and Eugene." 

A deep groan was the only response. 

" O father dear, let Jane go away and bring 
back Eugene. I will work hard, I will do 
everything I can to make a happy home for 
you. Do, father ; old age will soon be coming 
upon you, and you will want our young shoul- 
ders to help you bear your burdens." I bent 
forward and looked into his face pleadingly. 
My God, how it had hardened in late years ! 

Don’t be foolish, child," said father, shrug- 
ging his shoulders irritably to get my arm off. 

Eugene, you know, has had his answer, and 
may come whenever he pleases. You are too 


MRS. LOVELL. 


119 

young yet to take the care of a farmhouse like 
this on you. I could never afford it. But 
understand/' said he sharply, as I shrank 
away, cut to the heart, “I do not approve 
of this scheme of your uncle’s and Jane’s 
at all. I don’t want you to go up to that 
place on the mountain. The mill is the place 
for you, where you can come back at night and 
have Jane to look after you ; but Jane will 
have her own way. She was always terrible 
set, and always thinks she knows best.” 

Good-night, father,” said I, and in spite 
of his shrinking from me, I put my two arms 
round his neck and kissed him fervently. He 
caught my dress as I was leaving, and detained 
me an instant as he said : 

” Mind this, Louisa; you know you’ve got 
Gagnon blood in your veins, and though your 
conduct has been fair to middlin’ these last 
few years, I can see that very little stirs you 
up, and as sure as you ever do anything to dis- 
grace me you shall never eat another meal in 
this house ; but as long as you can hold up 
your head with the best of them, your father’s 
old home shall be always open to you at any 
time you choose to come to it.” 


CHAPTER XIL 


RESTING NOT ADVANCING. 

I ROSE early the next morning, and after I 
had helped Jane well through with her morn- 
ing’s work I said good-by to her and father 
with a light heart. All the misgivings of the 
night before had vanished, and oh, I was so 
glad to leave all that I detested in the old life 
behind me 1 Uncle Roswell had sent me a 
note, saying that he had been called back to the 
city by unexpected business, and that I must 
not wait for him, but go up to Mrs. Lovell 
alone. Jonathan Fairbrother was to bring up 
my little trunk when he returned from the 
station that night. So I went up the moun- 
tain quite alone and on foot. I wished that 
father would go with me, but he did not offer 
to, and I did not like to ask him. 

There were many people standing in groups 
on the broad front piazza of the hotel. They 
seemed to have nothing else to do, and had 


120 


RESTING NOT ADVANCING. 


121 


not yet been taught the discourtesy of staring 
at strangers apparently, at least so I thought. 
I was glad of my broad hat to shield my red 
face as I walked up the carriage drive to the 
front door of the hotel. A boy was sweeping 
off the steps, and I went up to him and asked 
for Mr. Gagnon, although he had told me he 
should not be there. 

He went off by the morning stage. Miss,” 
said the boy smartly, and then he, too, stared 
at me with the question, ” Who are you?” 
conveyed in look and manner. 

“Can I see Mrs. Lovell?” said I, rather 
disconcerted. The boy’s manner instantly 
changed, and he answered respectfully that if 
I would go into the hotel parlor and wait he 
would go and see. 

“ Card?” said he nonchalantly, as I seated 
myself, grateful for the coolness and shade 
after my walk in the hot sun. 

“ I have none,” said I, again disconcerted. 
“ I — she is expecting me.” 

He bowed and then disappeared, but soon 
came back to usher me up the same way that 
I had passed with Uncle Roswell the night 
before. I noticed this time a strange-looking 
article hanging on the door of the studio. It 


122 


RESTING NOT ADVANCING. 


was a disk made of pasteboard with a hand 
like a clock, although it was made of wood in- 
stead of metal, and the hand pointed at one of 
three words printed on the margin of the disk 
— “ At home “ Out “ Engaged/’ The 
hand at this time pointed at the word “ En- 
gaged.” 

The boy gave one low, distinct rap and was 
gone, leaving me standing on the mat in front 
of the door very much frightened. Poor lad ! 
he afterwards took one of the most violent 
fancies for me, and was very often greatly dis- 
concerted in his turn. However, this has 
nothing to do with my story. The door was 
opened immediately by Mrs. Lovell herself, 
who drew me into her studio and kissed me 
warmly on both cheeks. 

“ You are most welcome, dear,” said she to 
me ; ” I need you.” 

If I had been captivated with the society 
lady the previous night I was very much more 
so by the artist who welcomed me that morn- 
ing, as she stood before me in her working- 
dress. 

Her snow-white hair was dressed in the same 
way, but without any ornament of lace or rib- 
bon. She was clothed in a long tunic of cream- 


RESTING NOT ADVANCING. 


123 


white serge, which fell from her neck to her 
feet, loosely belted in at the waist by a broad 
band of the same. It was ornamented by 
many a stain of different-colored paints, but 
with Mrs. Lovell even her untidiness was re- 
fined and ladylike. 

She had a palette in her hand as she opened 
the door, and an absent look in her eyes, with, 
as one has said, “ That artist look that seems 
to see pictures in the air.” She placed the 
palette on a table carefully, and then took off 
my hat and made me sit down by an open win- 
dow, pitying my heated condition all the while ; 
then placed a large, light fan in my hand. 
After she had seen that I was resting she dis- 
appeared through a door, one of those behind 
the portieres that I had noticed the night be- 
fore, and soon came back bearing a glass of 
claret sangaree in her hand, which she told me 
to sip slowly in my present heated condition. 

‘‘You see, little True,” said she, ‘‘ I am in 
some degree my own housekeeper. That room 
is my kitchen, where I prepare my food when 
I don’t feel in spirits to meet the world. I try 
to be brave and not sink under my troubles, 
but when they get too much for me, I don’t 
want the world to see it, and at such times I 


124 


RESTING NOT ADVANCING. 


shut myself up alone for days at a time. The 
people think it is because I do not want my 
painting interrupted, and I let them think so, 
but it is really. True, the heavy ache and sor- 
row at my heart which threatens to break it at 
times. Your uncle knows this, and he insisted 
on bringing your young life into my clouds 
and darkness, so you must blame him if you 
do not like it. It would, indeed, grieve me, 
child, to see your brightness clouded by my 
gloom.” 

She had seated herself as she spoke on the 
cushioned window-seat at my side, and now 
paused and looked at me with a world of en- 
treaty in her wide-opened, gray eyes, while she 
pressed her trembling hands together as if to 
control the nervous shaking, so unlike her usual 
calm self-possession. 

I tried hard to keep back the tears, but I 
rhink I showed my heart in my eyes, for she 
seemed satisfied and went on : 

” I will tell you my story, dear. It is better 
for us to understand each other from the first, 
and then there will be no misunderstandings. 
Misunderstandings are such dreadful things — 
worse than lies, I think. 

” I shall be so glad. True, if you will have 


RESTING NOT ADVANCING. 


125 


me for a friend. Already I think I feel a 
loosening of the aching bands about my heart. 
At your age I was a proud Kentucky girl, or 
perhaps I was a little older, for I left school 
when I was only sixteen years of age, and I 
immediately became an acknowledged belle in 
society. Better than that, I was the loved 
and darling child of a happy home. It is the 
old story, True, of money difficulties, which 
my father tried to settle and to avoid disgrace 
by marrying me to a wealthy man. Mr. 
Lovell, my husband, was really bad, but the 
world called him respectable, and poor father 
would not see." She paused a moment, and 
then went on : “I refused him three times, 
but in the end they were too much for me. 
True. 

" What would you think if on your wedding 
tour your husband told you that he had mar- 
ried you merely to have the chance of reveng- 
ing himself on you for having dared to refuse 
him ? What would you do, tell me ? " 

" I would leave him, and never look on his 
face again," said I in horror-struck tones, and 
I bent down and kissed with a pitying heart the 
thin, attenuated hand she had placed so sup- 
plicatingly on mine. 


126 


RESTING NOT ADVANCING. 


“ Yes,” she whispered, ” he said this to me ; 
and long before our honeymoon was ended I 
fled from him and returned to my father’s 
house. He followed me and demanded his 
wife, and I was made to go with him again to 
a large estate outside the city, where his busi- 
ness was. He told me that he would set his 
dogs on my mother or any other interfering 
friends who ventured near the place.” Her 
lips compressed and her eyes flashed as she 
said this. 

” Fool ! fool ! fool that I was ! I lived there 
with him for ten years of degrading servitude. 
The servants took their cue from their master. 
His stables were filled with horses, but I must 
never ride. His grounds were laid out with 
magnificent gardens, but if I ever gathered 
flower or fruit a complaint was carried to the 
master, which always brought a humiliation 
before the servant. And oh, the horrible peo- 
ple that he brought down from the city to eat 
at our table, where I was forced to receive 
them ! 

One ray of happiness came to me — my 
boy ! Two years ago, when his father saw 
that I was gaining too much influence over 
him, he took him from me and sent him to 


RESTING NOT ADVANCING. 


27 


Germany for his education. My father and 
mother had died in the meantime, so I hesi- 
tated no longer, and obtained a divorce. I 
would not touch one cent of his money. I 
could paint, and I soon had all the orders that 
I could fill. So, my dear, you see I have to 
work for my living, and you will have to help 
me ; if you, after what you have heard, con- 
sent to be the companion of such a one as I.” 

She dropped her head in my lap as she fin- 
ished her story and burst into tears. In an 
instant I was on the floor at her side mingling 
my tears with hers, as I strove to comfort her as 
well as I could. 

Of course I know now that it was extremely 
injudicious and foolish for her to make a 
confidant of a strange young girl, but by it she 
had completely won my heart ; I was her 
abject slave, the mere creature and imitator of 
her whims during the summer that I lived 
with her. She was, indeed, an undisciplined, 
impulsive woman, following out the whim of 
the moment, and one could easily see how 
much of her troubles had been her own fault ; 
but I was then quite blind to this, and looked 
up to her as a most perfect being and a 
martyr. 


128 


RESTING NOT ADVANCING. 


She was also a most fascinating woman, prov- 
ing so to all with whom she came in contact ; she 
had great power to control and win men’s 
hearts, and was the acknowledged leader in all 
the gayety of that gay summer. If she took 
a fit of the blues and shut herself up for a 
time, everything fell flat and tame, and I was 
besieged on all sides to persuade her to come 
forth from her seclusion. I generally suc- 
ceeded in charming away the clouds. Her 
big, little comforter she used to call me. 

As for myself, I was completely metamor- 
phosed under her hands, and I think, perhaps, 
for the better, on the whole. She hated de- 
ceit, and I grew to be ashamed at not being 
straightforward. She made me see the vul- 
garity of affectation, and I became more simple 
in my manners, and she taught me many little 
refinements in my way of living, which per- 
haps, too, was well, as a lady is known by the 
neatness and purity of her habits. I think 
that by these two things my soul grew to a 
higher platform, so to speak ; I hope it did. 
She also taught me how to paint on china, so 
that I could get orders sufificient to support 
myself if need be. I had learned self-control 
under Jane’s severe and unpleasant methods. 


RESTING NOT ADVANCING, 


129 


but I learned to value it more from seeing 
Mrs. Lovell’s weakness in this respect. And, 
after all, the best thing of my life turned out 
to be the terrible misfortune of which I will 
tell you in the next chapter. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


CALAMITY. 

I WISH to say as little as possible of the 
great calamity, or at least so I called it at that 
time, which came into my life. It does not 
concern the object of this story, and tends to 
disturb the peace of my soul, which I would 
carefully preserve. Uncle Roswell intended 
to return in a few weeks and to bring Eugene 
with him, but he was prevented by circum- 
stances which he could not control. At last 
it so happened that neither came, and so, again, 
I did not see that dear brother for whom I so 
longed. 

It was a happy, very happy summer, and 
our time was not wasted, certainly not alto- 
gether. Mrs. Lovell, as she said, had to earn 
her living, and we were both shut in her studio 
all the morning, and at times, when our orders 
were pressing, the entire day. I took to paint- 
ing with the greatest enthusiasm and delight, 
130 


CALAMITY, 


131 

and was soon able to copy wild flowers on 
china, so as to be able to carry out orders for 
china painting to her satisfaction, as well as 
that of our customers. 

After our work was over we would join the 
merry party at the hotel, and went off on 
drives or picnics, always finishing the evenings 
with games or dances at the hotel. It was 
with great satisfaction that I bestowed patron- 
izing nods on my former companions, as I saw 
them gazing through the window at me, as I 
was wont to gaze at others in former times. 

Mrs. Lovell was always the leader of our 
festivities, and her rooms were thronged when- 
ever she received, while I as her protege re- 
ceived admiration enough to have turned any 
young girl’s head, let alone one as light as 
mine. 

I rarely went home that summer. Father 
so openly disapproved of my manner of life at 
the hotel, that he never failed to lecture me as 
if I were really sinning in carrying out Mrs. 
Lovell’s wishes. Even our painting seemed 
to him an utter waste of time, while Jane, 
with strange inconsistency, as she herself had 
placed me there, seemed to resent my success, 
and with the jealousy so commonly found in 


132 


CALAMITY. 


narrow, uneducated souls, stung me with sneers 
and sarcasms for living in a higher and more re- 
fined world than hers. 

Tired, therefore, of lectures, sneers, and sar- 
casms for the things over which I had really 
no control, I gave up going down to the farm 
by degrees, and devoted myself wholly to the 
pleasant life and friends with which I was sur- 
rounded. The summer went swiftly by, and 
I even forgot, in time, to be sorry over Eu- 
gene’s not coming. It was not till October 
that the great misfortune came that so changed 
my life. I had promised to go back to the 
city and remain with Mrs. Lovell on the same 
terms as those on which she had at first engaged 
me. I had wrung a reluctant consent from 
my father, having told him very decidedly that 
I could not return home unless he sent Jane, 
now Mrs. Fairbrother, away. And Jane did 
not want me any more than I wanted her. 
She averred that I had become altogether too 
fine a bird for the old nest, and I felt in my 
heart that in one sense she was right. , And 
yet how little those refined surroundings seem 
to me now ! 

I tell you frankly,” Mrs. Lovell said to 
me, “ that you would probably do better — at 


CALAMITY. 


133 


any rate, in a pecuniary way, by setting up for 
yourself independently, and taking in your 
own orders ; but oh, my dear, I have learned 
to love you ! ” 

How can you say such dreadful things,” 
said I ; ” I shall never leave you, unless you 
send me away.” 

“You may be sure that I shall never send 
you away,” said she ; “ I am horribly depen- 
dent upon you, child — horribly so ! ” 

Alas, how soon did she think differently ! 
But I must not anticipate. The hotel, being 
only a summer resort, was to close soon, and 
the landlord, pleased with the success of the 
season, had determined to wind up with a 
grand ball. Invitations had been sent out far 
and near, especially to all who had been there 
through the summer. It was to be a grand 
advertisement of the house, but it proved its 
ruin. 

A caterer and his men were to come from 
the city and provide the banquet regardless of 
cost. A fine band was also engaged to play 
for the dancing, the grounds were to be illu- 
minated, and, in short, nothing was to be 
spared to make it the greatest festival ever 
held in this part of the country. 


134 


CALAMITY. 


Mrs. Lovell had to go down to the city the 
day before the occasion, but she promised the 
proprietor of the hotel, who urged it almost 
with tears, that she would surely return in 
time to assist at the festival. “ Madam," said 
he solemnly, “ to you I owe the great success 
of the summer. If you would permit it, I 
would gladly engage you for next season ex- 
pressly to entertain my guests ; it would pay 
me well, even if I were to engage you at a 
large salary," said he, greatly moved. 

Mrs. Lovell laughed heartily at this, and 
kindly told him that she had found it a de- 
lightful season, that she knew no reason why 
she should not return the next year, and that 
she thought she could get back in time to 
attend the breaking-up ball. 

Before she went she insisted on presenting 
me with a dress for the occasion. "You have 
earned it, my dear," said she in answer to my 
expostulations. " I have paid you nothing in 
comparison to what you have earned for me." 

It was a heavy corded silk of the palest yellow, 
trimmed with bows of satin ribbon so nearly 
the color of the autumn leaves as to exactly 
catch the tints of the glories of the mountain 
forests, now in their prime. It was well suited 


CALAMITY. 


135 


to my dark, brilliant complexion, so they all 
said, and I — believed them. 

On the day before this ball some of us at the 
hotel went off on a long driving excursion, 
back among the mountains to a little tavern 
celebrated for its fine brook trout lunches. 
Mrs. Lovell had insisted on my going, and 
said that I had been working too hard of late 
and needed the change. I did not care to go, 
for I had work to be finished, and besides I 
wanted to stay and see her off to the city ; 
but, as usual, I gave way to her wishes. 

I see her now as I saw her then, looking back 
as we drove off. She was standing in the door- 
way of the house in a plain black dress, with 
her pale face and large, dark eyes crowned with 
her white hair, like a nimbus, such as one sees 
in the pictures of the old saints, smiling at the 
saucy remarks we threw back at her for not 
coming with us. She stood there gazing after 
me as long as I could see her. It was many a 
month before I saw that sweet, soulful face 
again. 

We were a large, four-horse omnibus of 
merry young people, matronized by a young 
married lady, who was the wildest of the whole 
set. We drove up through the deep gorges of 


136 


CALAMITY. 


the mountains, making their sides echo with 
our merry songs, through deeply shaded wood 
roads, rich with the resinous perfumes of the 
tall, sighing pines over our head and fringed 
with mosses and graceful ferns, while the run- 
ning brooks and notes of the wild wood robins 
seemed to catch the spirit of the day. 

Yet there was a certain solemnity in the yel- 
low autumn light as it flickered through the 
trees, together with the solemn soughing of 
the wind through the forests that seemed to 
send a warning shadow over my soul, but I 
would not hear it, and was only the more 
wildly gay. I think I was what the Scotch 
call “ fey” under the dark shadow of coming 
events. 

We dined at the little tavern, rested an hour, 
had a game of ninepins, and then set off 
on our return to the Mountain House. Our 
drive back was by another road, if possible 
through still more wild and romantic scenery. 
Our fun grew wilder than it would have done 
had Mrs. Lovell been with us, and so it came 
to pass that as we drew near the end of our 
drive a very silly game was begun, in this 
fashion. 

Our party was divided into two sides, those 


CALAMITY, 


137 

on the right side of the omnibus forming one^ 
and those on the left the other. Each side 
was to count every living thing passed on 
the road. The side that first reached the 
number of fifty won the game, but if by 
chance the living thing was a black cat or an 
old maid, then the side who met either must 
begin at the beginning once more. 

It is hard to think of grown folk, with the 
full use of reason, finding interest in anything 
so silly and childish, but I was most eager of 
all to win, and the noisiest of shouters. We 
turned a corner in the road as we drew near 
Tiononti, and came suddenly upon an old- 
fashioned two-wheeled chaise drawn by an an- 
cient white horse. Our omnibus took up so 
much of the road that the owner of the chaise 
was obliged to turn quite out into the ditch to 
pass us. 

Forty-seven ! forty-seven !” I shouted, 
starting to my feet, and pointing rudely at the 
occupant of the chaise. Then I dropped sud- 
denly and silently into my seat. It w’as my 
father ! He stood up on his feet in the chaise, 
and turned and steadily regarded the whole 
party with a look of withering scorn and con- 
tempt. He tried to say something, but his. 


138 


CALAMITY, 


voice was drowned by the merry shouts of 
laughter as we swept swiftly on. 

“ The old fellow doesn’t like it, does he?" 
said my companion, a young college graduate 
who had occupied the seat with me all day. 
" Hello ! " he added, as he noticed my droop- 
ing head and red face ; " is he any one whom 
you know ? ’’ 

" It was my father," I gasped in dismay. 

" Great Scott, but you’ll catch it ! ’’ said he, 
laughing ; " though I don’t think that any 
one could be hard upon you." 

I sighed as I thought that there could be no 
one harder or more likely to pass a harsh judg- 
ment on our silly game, but I kept my thoughts 
to myself, and determinately shaking off my 
discomfort, I was soon as merry as ever. 

" Fifty ! fifty ! " shouted the opposite side 
as we dashed down the hill leading to the 
hotel. 

I looked and saw toiling up the hill a tall, 
spare figure in a calico dress and sun-bonnet, 
with a large empty basket on her arm. It was 
a woman who had been to sell berries at the 
hotel. Without a thought of the discomfort 
that I might give, or of the rudeness of the 
action, I rose to my feet, and bending over to 


CALAMITY. 


139 


the opposite side, pointed my finger at her and 
shouted : 

Old maid ! old maid ! ” 

The woman raised her head in amazement, 
and I saw, under the sun-bonnet, a delicate, 
refined face, which glanced at me in surprise ; 
then she dropped her head, but not until I had 
seen the color rush over her face at the insult, 
as she walked on with great dignity. 

“ Miss Kizzie Heaton ! I exclaimed again, 
in yet greater dismay. 

There was no laugh this time. All felt that 
we had gone too far, and a sudden, uncom- 
fortable silence fell among us. Perhaps it was 
well that we immediately drove up to the door 
of our hotel, and that the excursion was ended. 

The next day brought a disappointment. A 
telegram came to me from Mrs. Lovell saying 
that she could not return, and that I was to 
come to her as soon as I could get ready after 
the ball. Every one was greatly disappointed, 
and I wished to give up going myself, but I 
was persuaded against my will to keep to my 
former plan. An elderly lady this time offered 
to matronize me with her own daughter, and 
so I at last consented, feeling sure that Mrs. 
Lovell would be sorry if I did not go. 


140 


CALAMITY. 


Why should I linger over this unfortunate 
affair, or try to put off telling it by describing 
my dress or the ball itself ? It proved a terri- 
ble disaster not only to me, but to many 
others, and quite ruined the hotel itself. The 
way of it was this. All had gone on smoothly 
until nearly midnight, when we went to sup- 
per. After that the ball was to close with a 
german, which was likely to carry us well into 
the small hours. I had been engaged for this 
for some days by the young collegian who 
rode by my side the day before, and conse- 
quently he came to take me in to the supper- 
table. All there went on as usual, and I know 
not how to account for the after disaster. I 
only remember beginning the german in great 
spirits — I have a dim remembrance of great con- 
fusion, shrieks, and mad dancing — then a blank. 

The first thing I remember after this was the 
consciousness of a dreadful pain in my head 
and inability to move. “ Where am I ? " said 
I faintly, and immediately a gentle voice bade 
me not be frightened, for I was with friends. 

“ How came I here? What has happened 
to me ? ” I queried, striving to gaze around the 
darkened room. There was a Venetian blind 
slowly moving in the autumn breeze, which 


CALAMITY. 




came freshly, but not too coolly through the 
open window. It was a little white room with 
a painted floor and a braided rug by the bed- 
side. There was a faint perfume from a box 
of mignonette which was growing on the win- 
dow-seat, and everything was as neat as wax, 
with a delicious atmosphere of peace and calm. 

You have met with an accident. Miss Tru- 
delle, and have been carried in here. Do not 
talk any more now, but keep very quiet and 
try to sleep.'’ 

I looked up at her, and recognized the face 
of Miss Kizzie Heaton, whom I had so insulted 
two days before by shouting at her on the 
roadside. Covered with shame and confusion, 
I tried to turn over and hide my face from her, 
but the attempt ended with a groan, and I was 
fain to hide my face by covering it with the 
sheet, while my hostess, pitying my confusion, 
left me and went out of the room, leaving the 
door partly open behind her. I must have 
slept long after this. It was quite dark when 
I was wakened by the sound of voices in 
the next room. I listened and recognized 
Barney talking to Miss Heaton. 

“ Surely," she was saying, " the child has 
in no way sinned. She has simply met with a 


142 


CALAMITY, 


misfortune. Her father cannot be so unnatu- 
ral as to cast her off.” 

“ They do say,” said Barney solemnly, 
“ that he threatens to kill her, and it ain’t 
noways safe for her to meet him.” 

” Send up Mrs. Fairbrother, then. She 
cannot be left with strangers. She ought to 
have some one round her that she knows.” 

” Poor comfort she’d find in Jane,” said 
Barney. ” She says she wouldn’t walk on the 
same side of the street with her.” 

“ God help her ! Has she no one ? ” 

” Wal, Mr. Trudelle is makin’ his calc’lations 
to put her away. Land’s sake, it’s the best 
thing he could do fer her. She couldn’t never 
hold up her head agin here. The lady she 
worked fer ain’t cornin’ back no more, I take 
it, and if she was Louisy hever’ll be able to 
work any more fer any one. She’ll be a dread- 
ful burden on her poor father, I expect, and he 
feels it turr’ble. All the names right out in 
the paper. How they got it so soon is a 
beater. Anyhow, no respectable folks will 
ever come back here again, I take it.” 

” I don’t see why, I am sure,” said Miss 
Heaton. 

” There’s heaps of bodies taken out from 


CALAMITY. 


143 


the ruins,” continued Barney pitilessly and 
with great relish. ” They’ve turned the town 
hall into a hospital. Where did you say you 
found her ? ” 

She was found quite unconscious in the 
woods up on the hill.” 

Don’t say? Wal, that du beat all. 
There’s something in blood, say what you 
will. I was alius, fond of her, and thought 
Jane was too hard on her, though she was the 
sassiest young one ever I see ontil Jane took 
her in hand. Perhaps she was a leetle too 
hard on the poor youngster. I take it that 
when you shut it all in it will bust out the fust 
time it gets a chance. Wal, ef you will be 
kind enough to keep her here ontil she is able to 
travel. Squire Trudelle will be greatly obleeged, 
and will see you don’t lose nothin’ by it.” 

“You may tell the squire from me,” said 
Miss Heaton stiffly, “ that I want no pay for 
what I have done for his child. I am only 
doing the ordinary work of mercy, to which all 
Christians are bound, and if he does the same 
I shall be satisfied.” 

“ Sartain, sartain,” said Barney, going out 
as he spoke, “ but I don’t suppose she’d want 
to see no one, or else I would ask her to see her. 


144 


CALAMITY, 


Oh, Barney, from you ! 

It was all a confusion and puzzle for me at 
first. What could it mean ? Why was I such 
a disgrace ? Gradually past events came shap- 
ing themselves in my mind, and by putting 
two and two together, I realized that I, Louisa 
Trudelle, who had held myself so much above 
my companions and had been the envy of all, 
was now counted among them as an object of 
contempt and pity. 

O God, why did you not let me die ? Why 
not let my father kill me ? Surely it would be 
more merciful than letting me live. But I 
was not to be released from the life that seemed 
to me so unbearable. My burns were likely 
to be many a long month in healing, and as 
it was thought that I should be greatly de- 
formed and disfigured by them, and that I 
needed better surgical treatment than our little 
place afforded. Miss Heaton was obliged to 
yield to my father’s judgment and send me 
away. 

An explosion of coal gas in the cellar of the 
hotel had caused the fire, but the way in which 
I made my escape and the manner in which 
my burned clothing was extinguished, no one 
could tell. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE WINE PRESS. 

It was a cold, rainy, dreary November day 
when Jonathan Fairbrother deposited me be- 
fore a large brick house in one of our great 
cities. The east wind off the water chilled me 
through and through. I cared not for it or for 
anything else, however, as, in obedience to 
Jonathan’s outstretched hand, I stepped from 
the closed carriage in which he had brought me 
from the station. 

It was enough for me to know that he was 
acting at my father’s command. I had dropped 
into a state of extreme listlessness when I 
realized the great misfortune which had fallen 
upon me. Nothing could rouse me. I looked 
wonderingly at Miss Heaton’s tears as I bade 
her good-by, and obeyed as exactly as if I had 
been a wooden automaton. 

The numbness of despair had seized me, and 
I was filled with a dreary indifference, caring 

145 


146 


THE WINE PRESS. 


for and hoping for nothing. I watched the 
hack-driver take off my trunk and carry it into 
the basement of the great house, as if it be- 
longed to some one else in whom I had no in- 
terest. He then drove off, while Jonathan and 
I ascended the steps and rang the door-bell. 
We were ushered into a broad, tiled hall, where 
a tall nun received us. Jonathan handed her 
a paper in silence, and in silence she read it, 
and then opening a door leading into a little 
reception-room on the right, drew me gently 
inside with herself. 

There was certainly no chill to be felt here. 
The one window was closely shut and the air 
stifling, doubly so from our having just come 
in from the fresh air outside. I felt at last a 
sensation, one of intense aversion, quite over- 
coming and vanquishing my indifference. I 
glanced at the nun. Her face was partly con- 
cealed, and under the veil was an immense 
pair of glasses, which seemed to shut her in 
even more than the veil from the blessed light 
and air. Again as I looked about the room 
and then at her my insensibility suddenly van- 
ished. 

With a loud scream I flew to the closed door 
and called after Jonathan, who had started to 


THE WINE PRESS. 


147 


go away: “ O Jonathan, I cannot stay here. 
I shall die ; I shall suffocate. Oh, take me 
away ! Anywhere but here ! It is a living 
death ! Father cannot be so cruel.” And I 
flew out into the hall after him, and with all 
my strength screamed for Jonathan again and 
again. He had started to go out, but at my 
cries turned and came back and came up to 
the door, saying : 

Now don’t ye take on so. Miss Lou. Your 
father has had you committed here, and I 
haven’t the power to take you away. The 
Lord knows I would ef I could, but give ’em a 
try anyhow, an’ then ef you can’t stan’ it he’ll 
take you out. Keep up a good heart, Miss 
Lou. I promise you you shan’t stay here ef 
ye don’t like it.” 

Here he gave a vindictive glance at the poor 
nun. 

” No, no, no ! ” I screamed. ” Oh, don’t 
go and leave me here ! I can’t breathe ! For 
the love of God, Jonathan, Jonathan ! ” I 
shrieked, for at a motion and a nod from the 
nun he went out, crying as he went, the good- 
hearted fellow. As he closed the door all grew 
black about me, and merciful unconsciousness 
came once more to my aid. 


148 


THE WINE PRESS. 


When I came to myself I found that I 
was in a long ward, where were several others 
who seemed to be ill. I was undressed and 
in bed, and as I had never seen a hospital 
ward before, or had not been in the habit 
of sharing my room with others, the idea 
was most distasteful to me. One of the nuns 
was standing over me with a basin of water 
and a bottle of ammonia, with which she 
had been trying to revive me. Now as I 
opened my eyes and gazed at her she said, 
with a smile : 

“ That is right, my child, now you will be 
better.” I did not reply, but I suppose I 
showed in my face the utter aversion I felt 
towards her and my surroundings, for she said 
no more, but quietly took away the basin and 
bottle, and left me to my own sad thoughts. 
Presently she returned, and taking a chair near 
my bed, she drew out some knitting and began 
to knit diligently. 

The pain around my heart grew so intense, 
that in spite of myself the slow, bitter tears 
began to force themselves from beneath my 
eyelids. I tried to hide them from my nurse 
by drawing the sheet up over my face. She 
was not so easily deceived, however, and said 


THE WINE PRESS. 


149 


to me in a tone which she meant to be soothing 
and sympathetic : 

“ What ails you, child ? Are you in pain ? ” 

I am very, very lonely,” said I, with a 
passionate burst of sobs and tears. 

Do not be lonely,” said she, ” I am here 
sitting by you. ” 

I prefer some one who doesn’t wear her 
clothes on her head,” said I rudely and pet- 
tishly. 

She laughed good-naturedly, and said : ” I 
see plainly that I must call the ‘ Little Mother,’ ” 
and then she rose and passed out of the ward, 
for it was there that they had carried me when 
I had fainted. 

I drew the sheet up well, so that I could 
neither see nor be seen, and tried to grasp the 
situation. 

Long, long months before I should be well 
again, and until that time I must be a pris- 
oner in this horrible place, and shut in with 
these dreadful people. And for what ? I had 
done no wrong. Was it right to punish me 
for a misfortune ? And then even if I sur- 
vived these months, or did not lose my reason 
in this time of horror, what awaited me then ? 

My father’s house ? He had said that if I 


THE WINE PRESS. 


150 

disgraced his name I should never see his face 
again, and I knew that he would never change 
his mind. Eugene would still be left to me, 
true, but if he had been ashamed of me when 
I went to see him at the school, what would 
he now be ? How would he receive me, disfig- 
ured, deformed, and turned out of my home ? 

Mrs. Lovell and Uncle Roswell apparently 
felt the same, for they had neither written nor 
come near me — fair weather friends both of 
them. Turn whichever way I might, there 
was not one ray of light. “ I cannot bear it,” 
I. sobbed, ” and I will not bear it. There is no 
use living. Life has gone for me. It will be 
best both for myself and for others if I take it 
in my own hands.” 

I had no faith, and I had never been taught 
even true principles of right and wrong, yet 
the inner voice, which never fails any soul, 
whispered within me : ” And after death what 
next ? ” 

I do not care what next, I thought defiantly. 
Hell itself cannot be as bad as this. 

Opposite my bed in the corner of the ward 
was a door leading into the bath-room. I had 
seen this as I watched the inmates pass in and 
out. Now the half-open door gave the tempter 


THE WINE PRESS. 


an opportunity to slip an evil thought into 
my mind. I motioned to a convalescent near 
me, and at my request she provided me with a 
wrapper and pair of slippers. I quickly put 
these on and went into the bath-room, closing 
the door and locking it behind me. It was 
but the work of an instant to shut the one 
small window tightly, draw down the shade, 
and turn on the unlighted gas. Then I 
crouched down on the floor under the fixture 
and awaited the result with a rapidly beating 
heart. It was a foolish, childish freak of tem- 
per. I do not think I really meant to kill my- 
self. It was a reckless display of my feelings 
of desperation, and — awful to think of — of de- 
fiance towards my Creator. 

Almost immediately the door was gently 
tried, a moment’s pause, and then a demand 
to enter in a low voice. I was silent and did 
not stir. Another turn of the latch and a 
louder demand to open, with no response from 
my stubborn self. There was a little stir out- 
side, and then the small window ventilator 
over the door was open, and a rough head 
thrust in. 

“ Phew ! ” was the exclamation. “ You 
come out of this, you young idiot. Open that 


THE WINE PRESS. 


^52 

window, turn off that gas, and unlock this 
door, and walk yourself out, or I shall go for 
Sister and have the door broken down, and 
you will get what you deserve. Miss.” 

I looked up at the ventilator, and recognized 
the face of the convalescent who had provided 
me with the wrapper ; seeing that I was dis- 
covered, and that there was much wrath and 
indignation in the round, red face looking 
down on me, I decided that I had better obey, 
and rose quickly to do as she demanded. I 
would like to have passed out in silent dignity, 
but I was too conscious of my disgraceful be- 
havior, so I hung my head and ran back to my 
bed like a sullen child. 

I met the Sister Infirmarian coming into the 
ward, but she paid no attention to me, and 
only hastened to open the windows and set free 
the fumes of the escaped gas, with which the 
ward was now full. So I hid my head under 
the friendly sheet once more, more frightened 
now than sad. 


CHAPTER XV. 


SOUL WORK. 

The Little Mother ! ” The ecstatic whis- 
per came from a bed near me. Then I heard 
some one speaking to the inmate of the bed in 
low tones, and then the same low, sweet tones 
came from the centre of the ward, talking to 
the Sister Infirmarian. There was a certain 
charm in the voice, a great cheerfulness and 
childlikeness, that powerfully attracted me. 

Finally my curiosity got the better of my 
pride, and I drew down the sheet a little and 
looked out. I saw a frail little figure, not 
much larger than a child’s, in deep black, 
standing in the middle of the ward talking in 
low tones to the Infirmarian. She had on a 
close widow’s cap of some light illusion, which 
no doubt added to the look of great purity in 
her countenance. There was the stamp of 
holiness, inimitable, but unmistakable. Her 
dress was made as straight and plain as it was 

153 


^54 


SOUL WORK. 


possible to be, and was finished with a round 
cape, which partly concealed a slight deformity 
of the spine. The niching on her cap fitted 
closely round her face, which was so bright 
and radiant that I could not remove my eyes 
from it. The large gray eyes were very ear- 
nest as she stood looking up into the Sister’s 
face, her hands hanging loosely clasped before 
her in a kind of pathetic entreaty. I noticed 
that she listened smilingly to the nun, but said 
very little herself. 

I quite forgot all my troubles and distasteful 
surroundings in studying, with a strange fasci- 
nation, her face. She was the most delicate, 
most frail little body I had ever seen. Mrs. 
Lovell and I had been revelling in Tennyson 
just before I left her, and a description came 
involuntarily to my lips : 

“ The sun 

Shone, and the wind blew through her, and I thought 
She might have risen and floated when I saw her,” 

'' What are you saying?” asked my next 
neighbor, who was regarding me with equal 
curiosity, as the Sister Infirmarian and the lit- 
tle lady walked up the ward. 

” Who was that?” was my reply. ” One 
of the nuns ? ” 


SOUL WORK. 


155 


“ No,” said the girl; ” that is our Little 
Mother. She is not a nun, but a widow, I be- 
lieve, and a relative of one of the nuns.” 

” And does she live in here?” said I, in a 
tone of amazement and a scornful emphasis 
on the ” here.” 

’Deed she does ; and why not ? ” said the 
girl resentfully. 

I thought no one from outside was per- 
mitted,” said I. 

” Well, you see she does,” said the girl. 
” God bless her ! ” 

” What does she do ? ” 

” She is good to us sick ones, and she has 
classes and a guild. 

” A guild ! ” said I. ” What is that ? ” 

” Oh, I doesn’t know,” said the girl wearily. 
” They goes in chapel in the night-time, and I 
don’t know what they does.” 

” Don’t you belong to it ? ” 

” No ; it’s not for the likes of me.” 

” She looks refined and cultured,” said I to 
myself. 

” Refined and cultured ! ” exclaimed my 
neighbor, with a disagreeable laugh. ‘ ‘ Annie, 
she called to a girl in the opposite bed, 
” we’re refined and cult-chured,” mimicking a 


SOUL WORK, 


156 

scornful tone, and ending with another short 
laugh. 

I saw all eyes directed towards me, and I 
turned away once more and covered my head. 
Perhaps it was well that authority returned in 
the shape of serving tea, and consequently 
stopped the discussion. 

A tray was brought to me, which I impa- 
tiently motioned away, and then the Sister In- 
firmarian brought me a mug of hot milk. I 
tried to treat that in the same manner, but she 
held it still towards me, saying in a firm man- 
ner : 

“ Drink it.” 

I looked up and met her eyes, and then 
sat up and took the milk and drank it in 
silence. She took the mug and went off 
without speaking, much to my relief, for 
I had expected to hear of my reckless esca- 
pade. After tea the spreads were removed, 
prayers were said, and finally the gas turned 
down, and we were left in quietness for the 
night. Once more I returned to my dismal 
reflections. 

Where would I have been now if I had suc- 
ceeded in committing suicide? For the first 
time in my life I thought seriously on the 


SOUL WORK. 


157 


momentous questions : Who am I ? Where did 
I come from ? Where am I going to ? I felt 
with a thrill of thankfulness that it was well 
that I had not succeeded in destroying myself. 
No ; life even here was better than that. And 
yet — and yet — how could I live here ? Why 
should I ? There was no reason. I would 
escape and leave my false friends in ignorance 
of my whereabouts and take care of myself, as, 
thanks to my painting and sewing, I was able 
to do. 

When I had arrived at this conclusion I 
started up, impulsive, as usual, to put my plan 
in execution ; but immediately sank back again 
in dismay. There at the foot of my bed sat 
the Little Mother. Her back was towards me, 
and she was apparently lost in thought. Her 
hands were still loosely clasped in her lap, and 
her eyes fixed on a sacred picture, under which 
a little red light was burning — at least, so I 
judged by the position of her head. 

I watched her for some time, but she was as 
immovable as though she was cut out of stone. 
I began to realize that it was not as easy 
to escape as I had imagined, and that now I 
had behaved so badly I should probably be 
watched day and night. Involuntarily I put 


SOUL WORK. 


15S 

my hand over my heart to ease its aching, and 
moaned aloud. 

In an instant the Little Mother was by my 
side, and, placing her hand over mine, she said 
in a low whisper : 

“You are suffering ? “ 

“ Oh, yes ; oh, yes ; even unto death, “ I 
moaned. 

Drawing a stool up closely to my bed, and 
putting her face near to mine, she whispered : 
“ Tell me all about it.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


HOPE RENEWED. 

How strange is that difference in souls in 
regard to the power of repelling or attracting — 
a magnetic force, an electric current still un- 
explored, which we feel, but cannot explain ! 

When the Sister Infirmarian’s kind heart 
had offered me sympathy I had repelled it 
with irritability and rudeness, like the unmor- 
tified, undisciplined soul that I was. Now I 
grasped the Little Mother’s hand as a drown- 
ing man seizes the hand stretched out to aid 
him, and poured out my whole soul before 
her. She said very little, almost nothing, only 
an occasional movement or murmur of sympa- 
thy ; but I felt her tears drop on my clasped 
hands, while the weight and pain grew less and 
less about my heart. I finished my story with : 
“ I will not stay here ! Why should I ? I am 
not bad ; I will escape from this vile prison ; 
I will run away. I was just going to do so 

159 


i6o 


HOPE RENEWED. 


when I saw you, and that stopped me.’’ I 
clung to her hand, sobbing wildly. 

“ Hush, hush, child ! you will disturb the 
others,” said she, with some authority in her 
voice ; and I became immediately calm and 
self-possessed. ” No, you need not stay here 
unless you wish it.” 

” I don’t wish it. I want to go with all my 
heart ; and I want to go at once — right away.” 

” That cannot be. It will take time to re- 
lease you. You must be reasonable. We 
must find some other home for you.” 

” I suppose, then, I must wait, as you say,” 
said I, with a great sigh. 

I am going to ask you to do me a great 
favor, if I may,” said she beseechingly. 

” How can such a one as I grant a favor to 
any one ? ” I asked despondingly. 

” What was your greatest wish when you 
were out in the world ? ” she queried. 

I hesitated a moment, and then said : ” I 
think I wanted, more than anything else in 
the world, to become a great artist and to make 
a happy home, where I could bring Eugene 
and father, and have a circle of congenial 
friends about me.” 

She sighed faintly and then said : ” Believe 


HOPE RENEWED. 


i6i 


me, dear, there is a far greater and far more 
satisfactory work to be done, though your 
eyes are holden so that you do not see it. I 
want you to do me this favor. Give me one 
month of your life. Stay here and take no 
step for your release for one month, and I 
promise you not to keep you into the new year 
unless you wish to stay.” 

It was my turn now to sigh, and I answered 
her : ” You do, indeed, ask of me a favor that 
costs something ; but you have been more 
than kind to me, and I should be most un- 
grateful to refuse to be guided by you in this 
matter. I will do as you wish, and will obey 
you in all things for one month, though noth- 
ing can persuade me to remain here for a day 
longer. ” 

” Who, child, has sent you here ? ” 

” Not God,” I cried. ” If He has. He must 
be a cruel, hard master, and must hate me, who 
have not sinned. I am sure of that.” 

For an answer she laid her crucifix in my 
hand, saying : ” If there were a greater or a 
better thing on earth than suffering, God 
would have given it to His own Son, and to 
you. His most dear child. Believe me, there 
is not ; therefore He chose it for His own 


i 62 


HOPE RENEWED. 


portion, and leaves it as a heritage for us. He 
gives to each of us the work He wishes us to 
do for Him, and just time enough to do it in ; 
but He crucifies no one against his will. Will 
you not respond to His call, my child ? 

“ I don’t know what you mean,” said I, be- 
wildered. ” What does He want me to do ? ” 

” I don’t know,” said she solemnly ; ” wait 
and see.” 

” I don’t understand,” said I uneasily. ” I 
am much better when I am happy. Trouble 
makes me bad. I tried to kill myself, and I 
hate everybody in the world. ” 

” Poor child ! ” said she tenderly. ” Have 
patience. Does a blind man know the lights 
and the colors of this world ? So little do you 
know of the secrets of the spiritual life.” 

It is not so. It is not true,” said I, weep- 
ing. ” Do not the flowers themselves grow 
better in the sunshine than in the cold and 
darkness ? I cannot be good without the happi- 
ness of having those around me who love me. 
First, when I had mother and Eugene I was 
so happy, and not a bad child. It was when 
they went and left me under the care of that 
heartless woman that I learned to lie and de- 
ceive. My whole life had become low and 


HOPE RENEWED, 


163 


scheming ; then dear Mrs. Lovell helped me 
to rise above that. I was so happy, chiefly 
because I could feel that my soul had risen to 
a higher platform, as it were. And now — 
now — how could anything be worse than this ? ’ ’ 
Your life, then, was as a flower rejoicing 
in the sunshine. Now, as you say, the flower 
has fallen, and you are tasting the bitter acid 
of the green fruit. Have patience for the 
glorious harvest. ‘ He that goeth on his way 
weeping shall come again with joy and bring 
his sheaves with him.’ Believe me, all the joy 
that the world has given me — and it has given 
me of its best — is as nothing compared to the 
joy that I have tasted here.” 

” Will you not tell me something about your- 
self — I mean why you came here and what you 
do ? It might make me understand better what 
you mean.” 

” There is little to tell,” said she, hesitating. 
” I had a happy childhood and made a happy 
marriage. My first trouble in life came dur- 
ing the first year of my marriage. I was 
thrown from my horse, and was injured so that 
it was thought that I could never walk again. 
It was my spine, as you can see by my hump. 
My husband took me to Europe to consult a 


164 


HOPE RENEWED. 


famous specialist in those matters. He had to 
lift me from place to place, as the lower part 
of my body seemed quite paralyzed. When 
we reached Paris he was suddenly seized with 
the small-pox, and I rose from my bed and 
nursed him until he died. Then I came back 
here to my aunt, who is one of the nuns. 
They were very kind to me, and I was able to 
be of some use to them. I knew of no better 
place to work for the Master ; I felt that He 
had sent me here, and so I have never left.’' 

“ Will you tell me about your classes and 
guild ? ” 

“ My guild? Oh, you mean the ‘ Soul 
Workers.’ I will try ; but only experience will 
make you understand. Do you remember the 
promises?” and she then repeated in a low, 
thrilling voice that went to my very soul : 

And these signs shall follow them that be- 
lieve ; in My name they shall cast out devils ; 
they shall speak with new tongues ; they shall 
take up serpents ; and if they drink any deadly 
thing it shall not hurt them ; they shall lay 
hands on the sick and they shall recover.’ ” 

” But those were the days of miracles,” said 
I wonderingly. “ Can any one do those things 
now ? ” 


HOPE RENEWED. 165 

“ They are the words of Him who cannot 
lie, and are for all time.” 

But do you go out among the people of 
the city and heal them ? ” 

” Space is as nothing to souls,” said she ; 
” it is not necessary to go out of the hpuse to 
work in any part of the world, ’ ’ 

” And do you think that I could do such 
work?” said I incredulously. 

I cannot tell,” said she sadly. 

There was a little silence, and then she whis- 
pered low in my ear : ” ‘ This kind can come 
forth but by prayer and fasting,’ ” and so say- 
ing, she suddenly disappeared. 

I could not sleep. New ideas were chasing 
themselves through and through my brain. I 
felt no longer a desire to escape, but a strong 
resolution to stay formed itself in my mind, 
and to try and learn the secrets of this work 
among souls. Suddenly there rose in the air 
soft strains of the sweetest music I had ever 
heard. It seemed to float in the air from 
the darkness of the corridor outside. In- 
stinctively I rose and fell on my knees as I 
listened. To my excited fancy it was not 
human, but the supernatural voices of the 
angels, who were calling me to join them. I no 


i66 


HOPE RENEWED. 


longer felt myself in the hospital. Sorrow and 
shame were no longer inmates of my soul. I 
felt as if in an ecstasy, and I seemed to rise 
and float upward in answer to the mysterious 
invitation of the music. I was drawn, as it 
were, in spite of myself to follow this heav- 
enly sound. 

Regardless of the consequences, I went out 
into the corridor undressed as I was. It was 
long and very imperfectly lighted by the moon 
shining in through the little windows high up 
in the wall. At the end, however, I could see 
a large door, before which hung a portiere, and 
it was from this direction that the sound 
seemed to come. 

Still irresistibly drawn, I crept noiselessly 
along until I reached the door and looked in. 

I saw at once that it was the chapel of the 
building. There were benches intersected with 
arches and pillars ; a choir with stalls for the 
nuns, but no light save the little red sanctuary 
lamp swinging over the altar. In the dim 
light of the sanctuary I thought I could see 
some dark forms kneeling on the floor ; but 
they may have been only shadows, for the music 
suddenly stopped and the November wind 
swept round the corners of the house with 


HOPE RENEWED. 167 

a mournful wail and filled me with a great 
fear. 

Suddenly seized with horror and dismay, I 
turned and fled rapidly back down the corri- 
dor to my bed once more. I reached it cold 
and trembling, my heart beating rapidly, with 
a cold sweat coming from every pore. 

What was it ? Who were those beings that 
made such unearthly music in the night — 
souls already in heaven, yet inhabiting a 
tomb ? Chilled through, and trembling with 
excitement, I felt I must see or touch some 
one human or die with fright. I had my de- 
sire. My next neighbor began to snore heav- 
ily. I was comforted and slept. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE MYSTERY OF PAIN. 

It was quite late when I woke the next 
morning. The ordinary routine of the ward 
work was already in full swing, and the con- 
valescent patients were almost finished with 
their breakfasts. 

I looked about me with new eyes. Already 
I began to feel a slight interest in my sur- 
roundings, and my mind was full of curiosity 
over the mysteries I had heard and seen the 
night before. 

There was certainly nothing of either mystery 
or attraction in the scene around me, only 
the usual surroundings of a hospital ward — 
disease in all its shades. There were those 
beyond hope of skill, who were stretched out 
listless and indifferent to their surroundings ; 
others in whom the tide of life had begun to 
flow back. These were sitting up in bed with 

i68 


THE MYSTERY OF PAIN. 169 

a well-filled breakfast tray before them, and 
contentment in their faces. They had drawn 
near to death, and found it sweet to return 
again to life. At the foot of my bed was 
spread a table for the patients who were well 
enough to remain up through the day. 

To my eyes, however, the best were pale 
and full of the marks of disease, repellent, 
showing a soul within even more diseased than 
their bodies. I turned my face to the wall 
with a feeling of loathing and aversion almost 
beyond control, and as I did so the old enemy 
of sorrow and despair surged up and took pos- 
session of my soul. 

The movement was caught by the sharp eyes 
at the table, and the cause correctly inter- 
preted. I heard a stifled whispering and gig- 
gling, then : “ Refined and cult-chured ! Phew ! 
Smell the gas ! 

A month — a whole month ! How shall I 
bear it ? How could I have been so foolish as 
to have made such a promise ? 

Silence, however, was the rule here at this 
time, and all rose to leave the breakfast table 
as the Sister Infirmarian and House Doctor 
came down the ward together. 

My wounds were examined, and I was told 


170 


THE MYSTERY OF PAIN. 


that it would not be needful for me to remain 
in bed or even in the ward, but could come in 
daily to have them dressed if I preferred. 

I was very much pleased to hear this, and 
obeyed with alacrity when the Infirmarian gave 
me permission to dress and accompany her to 
see the Mother Superior. About an hour 
later I followed her down the long corridor to 
the office, where she left me. 

It was a little room with only one window, 
hardly larger than a closet. It was very sim- 
ply furnished ; a writing-desk, two chairs, and 
a press were about all the room contained. A 
short, stout little nun sat at the desk writing 
rapidly. She had an earnest, pleasant ex- 
pression of countenance, and as she finished 
what she was writing before she looked up, 
I had time to make a careful study of her 
face. 

The result was very satisfactory. I was able 
to return her greeting cheerfully when, after 
placing her mail in a small leather bag and 
locking it, she turned to me and said : 

I am glad to see you looking so well, my 
child. Are you feeling so, too?” 

I bowed an inaudible assent, with the color 
rushing up to the roots of my hair, for I was 


THE MYSTER Y OF PAIN. 1 7 1 

too much ashamed of my conduct of the day 
before even to look her in the face. 

“ That is well,” she said cheerfully; ” sit 
down here and let us talk over your place 
while you are with us.” 

I sat down on the edge of the vacant chair 
to which she had motioned, still not venturing 
to lift my eyes. 

” Arrangements were made to keep you in 
our hospital,” said she ; ” but as it may be 
necessary to keep you here some time, and at 
the same time you may be feeling pretty well, 
I have thought that perhaps the Home for 
Convalescents, or some other of our houses 
might suit you better.” 

She paused a moment, but I was still silent. 

” You would like me to find you some em- 
ployment, wouldn’t you ? ” 

” Oh,” I exclaimed, ” if I might work, so 
as not to be dependent on my father, I would 
be so grateful ! ” 

She looked a little surprised. She did not 
ask me the reasons, but said gently : ” Tell me 
what you can do, child.” 

” I can sew a little, and paint flowers and 
figures on china,” said I rather doubtfully. 

“ The sewing will be useful ; we do a good 


172 


THE MYSTERY OF PAIN. 


deal of that in our Shelter for Working Girls, 
but we do no painting yet. Perhaps some day 
you can teach us,” she added, with a smile 
that completely won my heart. 

As she spoke she touched a bell and gave 
some orders to a bright-looking, neatly dressed 
young girl who answered it. The girl took up 
the mail-bag and motioned me to follow her. 
I did so, and we first went down the corridor 
to the little reception-room through which I 
had entered the day before, and which I now 
felt had proved a veritable bridge of sighs 
to me. Here she deposited the mail-bag 
in silence, and turning, motioned me in 
silence to go with her back again through the 
long corridor, past the Reverend Mother’s 
office once more, past the Infirmary, and on to 
the chapel door ; but just before we reached 
it she turned, and we both proceeded to climb 
the stairs. 

I tried then to speak to her, but she only put 
her finger on her lips, saying : 

” Silence in the halls.” 

Up we went until I thought we should never 
reach the top. As we went up the last flight 
I heard the buzzing noise of machinery, and 
wondered greatly thereat, but it was explained 


THE MYSTERY OF PAIN. 


173 


when my companion gave a low knock at a 
door on the landing and then opened it with- 
out waiting for a response. 

The door opened into a large hall, which cov- 
ered nearly the whole top of the house. It 
was lined on both sides with a double row of 
sewing-machines, all running at once, so that 
it was impossible to hear one’s self speak. 
Down the centre of this hall ran two long 
tables, piled up with bales of white muslin. At 
the same tables at intervals, were women busied 
in cutting out shirts. I noticed with astonish- 
ment that they were cutting several at one 
time. This they did by laying one fold upon 
another, placing patterns of tin on the folds, 
and then cutting through the whole with a 
sharp knife. 

At the head of the hall, on a platform, on 
which was a desk like a teacher’s, sat a nun, 
who was busy at book-keeping. My compan- 
ion took me up to her, but after a silent greet- 
ing of a nod and a pleasant smile she pointed 
to the forewoman at the tables, and we went 
over to her. 

The forewoman was not at all pleased to see 
me, apparently, and after a severe scrutiny 
from head to foot of my poor self she turned 


174 


THE MYSTERY OF PAIN. 


her back and went on with her work as if I 
was not there. My companion had left me 
and gone off after she led me over to the 
forewoman’s table. I stood there feeling very 
awkward, and not knowing at all what to do. 

Presently I ventured to touch the woman on 
her elbow. 

She turned so suddenly that it made me 
start, and looking at me irritably, waited to 
see what I wanted. 

“ What shall I do ? ” I shouted. 

There was a lull in the machines, and she 
said, loud enough for me to hear : “ Could 
they not send me something better than a 
green hand ? ” 

Not knowing how to reply to this question, 
I was silent, and she turned again to her work. 
I waited a moment, and then, as the machines 
were in full force once more, I was obliged to 
stand on my tiptoes and shout into her ears : 

‘‘ What do you wish me to do ? ” 

** Nothing ; but if you want to you may go 
to work.” 

” What shall I do ? ” 

” There are some shirts, and there is a ma- 
chine.” 

She pointed, as she spoke, to some large 


THE MYSTERY OF PAIN. 


175 


bundles of shirts, which had been cut out and 
tied together in packages of a dozen. They 
were tied together with a piece of the same 
material, and I found, on opening the bundle, 
a quantity of thread and buttons — enough for 
the whole dozen, I should think. 

To me the making of a shirt meant many 
hours of hard, painstaking sewing, and there- 
fore I never dreamed that I was intended to 
take the entire package, so I took the one on 
the top, a spool of cotton and some buttons, 
and went down the hall to the unoccupied 
machine to which the woman had pointed. 
I was glad to find that it was one that I had 
been accustomed to, and I seated myself with 
a proud little toss of my head, which meant 
that, perhaps, they would find that I was not 
such a green hand as they thought. 

A dark-eyed, pleasant-faced girl sat at the 
machine next me, and as I seated myself she 
glanced at me and at my work, and then 
spoke : 

“You are new here. May I show you a lit- 
tle about your work ? “ 

“ Thanks," said I stiffly ; “ I believe I am 
quite capable of doing it myself." 

It was a rude return for an act of sweet 


176 


THE MYSTERY OF PAIN. 


charity, but my pride had been sorely wounded, 
and I was still smarting from the effects. I 
was punished for it later, as you will see. So 
surely does pride, that most hateful of ah our 
sins, bring both pain and punishment in its 
train. 

The girl said no more, but turned again to 
her work : and I, beginning to feel rather 
ashamed of the rebuff that I had given her, 
did not look up again, but attacked mine reso- 
lutely. 

“ I will show them,” said I to myself, “ what 
good work is. I don’t believe there is one in 
the place who can equal me.” With this 
thought to inspire me I worked away dili- 
gently at my task, until I heard the ringing of 
a bell, and all the machines stopped at once as 
if by magic. 

The workers rose and began laying out their 
work for inspection. The women who had 
been cutting out and preparing the work began 
to pass slowly down the rows and inspect it. 
I was glad to see that it was the forewoman 
who was inspecting the work on our row. 

She will find out now that I am not quite 
so useless as she thought,” I said to my- 
self proudly. I noticed that she found some 


THE MYSTERY OF PAIN. 


77 


fault with nearly all the work as she came 
down the row. So surely do we always find 
trouble when we go to look for it. As she 
cam-e to mine she looked at it first with a puz- 
zled expression of face, and then, taking it 
from me, fairly screamed with astonishment, 
drawing the entire attention of the room upon 
us. 

What under the heavens have you been 
doing ? ’’ 

I made no answer, but my defiant face and 
flashing eyes were no doubt eloquent enough. 

“ Didn’t you know better than that?” she 
fairly gasped. 

“ What is wrong in that work ? ” said I. 

“Why did you not tell her?” she said, 
ignoring me and looking at my neighbor. 

“ She did offer to show me,” said I proudly, 
“ and I told her that I was quite capable of 
doing it alone. What is the matter ? Is it 
not done well enough ? ” 

She was still inspecting it curiously. I had 
begun by making the sleeves of the garment, 
and had felled down the seams with invisible 
stitches, put in at the bottom of the seam the 
neatest of little gussets, and had just finished 
with the most perfect of buttonholes. 


178 


THE MYSTERY OF PAIN. 


Where is the rest of the bundle ? ” 

“ I took but one shirt out of it/’ I faltered. 

“ And now it has got mixed up with all the 
others, I suppose. Your work is so very well 
done that it will take some one a good hour to 
pick it out, and some one else I don’t know 
how long to find the bundle that you pulled 
this shirt out of, and put it back. You are 
altogether too good a worker for me, and you 
may report yourself at headquarters as quite 
useless in this department.” 

With a burning face and choking throat I 
left the hall with a hurried step, and no sooner 
was I outside the door than I fairly flew down 
the stairs ; as I reached the lower floor I met 
the Little Mother coming out of the chapel 
with that sweet, peaceful, uplifted look that 
she always wore, but more especially when she 
had been visiting Our Lord. She looked up to 
see who was the noisy runner, and at the sight 
of my face held out her hand silently, and drew 
me into the little room where she held her 
court, far greater in the eyes of the angels than 
the court of kings. 

It did not need her quiet ” What is it ? ” to 
make me pour out my complaints with wild 
sobs and tears. I do not know why the self- 


THE MYSTERY OF PAIN, 


179 


control which I thought I had learned under 
Jane’s teaching should have so deserted me 
now. I suppose it was my illness and the 
hard experience I had been through that had so 
unnerved me, for when I was with the Little 
Mother I was as the veriest of undisciplined 
school-girls. 

After she had soothed and quieted me for a 
little, she made me see things from another 
point of view — that of the forewoman’s. How 
much trouble I had made for her by refusing 
to be taught the method of rapid machine 
work that was required here ; the worry which 
falls on the shoulders of one who is responsible 
for getting a certain amount of work done in a 
certain way in a given time. 

Under her sweet influence I felt all my anger 
melt away and change to contrition. I was 
really desirous to beg pardon and begin again. 
I was not allowed to return there, however ; 
I was told I was not worthy ; and the next 
day I began my work for souls under the direc- 
tion of the Little Mother. 

How I must have tried even her sweet 
patience in that probationary month ! Like 
a veritable school-girl that I was, I gave my 
whole heart to her without reserve. Night 


i8o 


THE MYSTERY OF PAIN. 


after night I would force myself to keep awake 
with the chance of seeing her move through 
the dormitory on some errand of mercy, or to 
catch a distant strain of that sweet, mysterious 
music, for I knew now that I must not creep 
and listen. 

I was almost glad to get into trouble and 
encounter storms, for they drew upon me a 
little attention from her. What delightful 
communings on things spiritual and the gradual 
opening of the truth of the love of that Friend 
who sticketh closer than a brother ! Ah, that 
life, that new life ! What has the world of 
joy that can compare with it ? 

I began at the foot of the ladder, of course. 
The sacrament of the present moment. Alas ! 
I am still there ; and now that years have 
passed away and I have a responsible post 
among the Sisters, I am still there. I have 
never been called to take my place among the 
“ Soul Workers,” and woe to the presumptuous 
soul who tries to enter that mysterious land 
uncalled. Terrible is the penalty, as the his- 
tory of many of those who fill our insane asy- 
lums could tell. Yet the consuming thirst for 
spiritual growth has never left me, and I have 
full confidence in the promise that “ They who 


THE MYSTERY OF PAIN, i8i 

hunger and thirst after justice shall surely be 
filled.” So I am waiting in trust and patience 
for the call to go up higher. 

I never have had the slightest desire to re- 
turn to the world, although Eugene, my uncle, 
Mrs. Lovell, and even the young collegian 
have all come at different times to urge me to 
do so. The day that I was installed as the 
Mistress of the Novices the Little Mother 
blessed me, and then said that her work -here 
was done. 

The next day she had disappeared, leaving 
me, most unworthy, her little room, and her 
task of strengthening hungry souls as they 
were sent to us. Where she went or if she is 
still living, no one, as far as I know, can tell. 

Thanks to dear Mrs. Lovell’s kindness, I 
was enabled to start a class in china painting, 
which has proved a blessing to many. May 
the good God bless her for all her kindness ! 

As to the ” Soul Workers,” I can tell you 
but little. I fancy I can pick them out among 
our numbers, but it may be all a fancy, as they 
never speak of it, and are not distinguished in 
anyway. Sometimes we hear of their work by 
the destruction of dens of evil, or miraculous 
cures. I myself send into their meetings the 


i 82 


THE MYSTERY OF PAIN. 


names of those souls whom I find too ungov- 
ernable for my weak influence, and as a result 
always find them immediately subdued and in 
right dispositions to be led. 

Some there are among us who tell of Blessed 
Mary of Agreda, who converted a tribe of 
Indians in New Mexico while her body lay in 
a trance in her convent in Spain. And they 
go so far as to say that the “ Soul Workers'' 
are caring for the body of the Little Mother 
with great reverence here in our convent, while 
her soul is working in some unknown region 
against the powers of evil. Who can tell ? 


THE END. 


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Names that Live in Catholic Hearts. Cardinal 
Ximenes— Michael Angelo — Samuel de Champlain — Arch- 
bishop Plunkett — Charles Carroll— Henry Larochejacque- 
lein — Simon de Montfort. By Anna T. Sadlier i2mo, 1 go 


New Rule of the Third Order. 32mo, 5 cents; 

per 100, 3 00 

New Testament, The. Illustrated edition. With 100 fine 
full -page illustrations. In two colors. i6mo, net, o 60 

The advantages of this edition over others consist in its 
beautiful illustrations, its convenient size, its clear, open type, 
and substantial and attractive binding. It is the best adapted 
for general use on account of its compactness and low price. 


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